Trials: An Obitine Story
by StopPanakin
Summary: While defending the Duchess Satine Kryze from Mandalorian insurgents, Obi-Wan Kenobi is torn between his growing feelings for the Duchess and his duty to the Jedi Order. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of parts of this contradict what I've written in a previous fanfic. Also, I wrote this before season 7 of TCW, so the new season may also contradict elements of this fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

"I think we're safe for now."

The words, Obi-Wan would realize later, were painfully ironic. But he didn't know that at the time. Right now, he was glad that things seemed to finally be settling down, that for the first time in weeks, they weren't on the run.

Greying hair washed silver in the moonlight, his master nodded. "Then I suggest you get some rest, padawan. These past few weeks have been trying for us both." His master lifted his gaze to the full moon for a moment before adding, "And I sense you may yet face far greater trials in the months to come."

As he drew closer to where his master sat, poised and serene at the edge of their campsite, Obi-Wan took a moment to study his master. Qui-Gon Jinn was not what one would describe as a typical Jedi; he was no master Yoda, spouting off mindless platitudes. No, when Qui-Gon Jinn spoke, it was always with purpose. Even if those purposes, at times, seemed as shrouded in mystery as the man himself.

Qui-Gon turned his head to regard him. "You worry about what my words may mean."

Obi-Wan did not turn to look at his master, instead busying himself with lighting the small pile of tender Qui-Gon had arranged in his absence. In the few weeks they'd been here, Obi-Wan had learned that nights on Mandalore were cold-deceptively so. He wouldn't have expected a planet that was so arid, so bleached by the sun, could chill him to the bone as soon as the sun slid below the horizon.

"They do worry me, master," he finally admitted, watching the tender catch flame. To avoid catching his master's eye, he began carefully arranging twigs around the tiny flame. "They make me fear that we may face even worse dangers than we have already faced."

"You assume that I speak of physical peril."

Obi-Wan blinked. It was a statement, not a question. And it was honestly something Obi-Wan had never considered at the time-that trials could be more than escaping danger, of facing physical enemies. It would only be later, looking back, that he would understand how truly wrong he had been.

"I do not yet know what form your trials will take," Qui-Gon went on, perhaps sensing Obi-Wan's unspoken question. "The Force only shows us what we need to see-nothing more, nothing less. That my feeling about the future is so vague is perhaps a sign that you are more than capable of surmounting these challenges with little foreknowledge."

Despite himself, Obi-Wan snorted derisively. "Then I should count myself fortunate that the Force wishes me to go in blind."

"To be blind is to have faith," Qui-Gon reminded him gently.

Confident that their campfire would survive most of the night, Obi-Wan settled next to Qui-Gon on the ground, cross-legged. The past few weeks had certainly tested his faith, not just in himself but in the purpose of his mission. He and Qui-Gon were here to protect the next ruler of Mandalore, a young Duchess whose progressive ideas had made her the target of her world's more traditional denizens. This was not surprising to Obi-Wan-he and Qui-Gon had seen their fair share of the violent reactions people could have to change-but what did bemuse him was the fact that anyone thought that a woman this young would be capable of leading a planet. Qui-Gon maintained that the Duchess possessed an inner strength that rivaled that of some Jedi, but all Obi-Wan saw was a headstrong, perhaps even impetuous woman who couldn't stand to lose an argument. He knew from personal experience; on the few occasions in which he had tried to converse with her, things had always escalated into a heated debate.

"I want to believe," Obi-Wan said at last. "But I am not you. Faith doesn't come easily to me."

A small smile touched Qui-Gon's lips. "You think it comes easily to me?"

Obi-Wan blinked.

Qui-Gon's smile broadened. "Simply because I have a few gray hairs does not mean that I have mastered myself."

"I just thought-" Obi-Wan was struggling, and failing, to find the words. "I thought faith came so easily to you because you always seem so confident, so assured."

"I am confident in the Force, young padawan-but that confidence was hard-won. It has been through many trials that I have earned my faith. And it is through the daily struggle to believe in that which I cannot be certain that I fight to keep that faith." A hint of sadness tinged his voice as he added, "Nothing of worth comes to you without pain."

Obi-Wan was considering if he should ask what his master meant by this when he felt a sudden iciness shoot through his veins, colder even than the night around him. At his side, Qui-Gon stiffened. Both of them were at their feet in an instant, lightsabers springing to life in their hands.

"I can't sense anything specific," Obi-Wan confessed. "Only a feeling that someone is watching."

"I sense this as well," Qui-Gon answered. "I fear we may have been discovered here."

Of course they had. Despite Obi-Wan's hopes, there had always been a fear at the back of his mind that their foes would catch up to them, in one way or another. Now his fears were simply being realized.

"Go and wake the Duchess," Qui-Gon instructed, gaze scanning the darkness for any physical sign of the presence weighing heavily upon them both. "Take the speeder bike that's still functioning and get as far away as you possibly can; I'll let you know when it's safe to return."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but he was silenced by the echoes of Qui-Gon's words: _To be blind is to have faith_. He was blind in this moment, could not understand what Qui-Gon could possibly be doing-but he still had a duty to trust him. He owed him that much.

He didn't know it now, but the times he would stray most in life were the times he doubted the wisdom of his master.

So without a word, Obi-Wan went in search of the Duchess. It didn't take long for him to find her; she wasn't in her tent as he had expected, but was instead standing outside, twenty or so meters away. Judging by the look in her eyes, Obi-Wan guessed she had been awoken by the sound of their lightsabers and intuited that something was amiss.

"Duchess, we need to go," Obi-Wan said curtly. "You're in danger here."

The Duchess frowned. "But we have only one functioning speeder bike. How-"

"I'm afraid there is no time for questions, Duchess. We must get you out of here."

He reached for her arm then, but she pulled it away. "I'm not leaving without Master Qui-Gon."

"I don't like the idea of leaving him, either," he retorted, his patience wearing thin, "but I don't see any other options at the moment."

The Duchess lifted her chin defiantly. "There has to be another way."

"There's not!"

"According to whom?"

As an answer, Qui-Gon suddenly appeared beside them, his blade casting an emerald glow over their campsite. "Obi-Wan, I thought I told you to get the Duchess to safety!"

"She's being difficult!"

Qui-Gon let out a long sigh. "I'll be alright here, Duchess. Go with Obi-Wan; he'll keep you safe while I'm gone."

The Duchess lowered her head just the slightest degree. It was a small movement, barely perceptible, but it spoke volumes. It would not be until later, much later, that Obi-Wan would appreciate how rare a moment he was witnessing, that he was seeing one of the few instances in which the Duchess of Mandalore allowed herself to trust.

"Thank you, Master Qui-Gon," she said, and Obi-Wan knew that she meant it.

"You can thank me by staying safe," Qui-Gon said dryly. He gave Obi-Wan a short nod. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

"And with you, master."

Taking that as their cue to leave, Obi-Wan and the Duchess went in search of their one functional speeder bike. How the other two bikes had broken down was a long story; what was important was that Obi-Wan had somehow been able to salvage Qui-Gon's bike, despite all the abuse it had taken in the past few weeks. It didn't sound pretty, certainly, its engine sounding less like a roar than it did a gagging cough. But it could at least carry them to safety relatively fast, which was all that mattered at the moment.

If they didn't break down first.

"I'll drive," the Duchess announced, hopping onto the bike's sloped seat.

"Begging your pardon, Duchess, but I have more piloting experience than you. I-"

"...Will be of more use if you have your hands free," she finished. "I can drive while you keep a look-out for trouble."

Although it pained him to do so, he had to admit she was right. "Fine. Just don't go anywhere without my say-so, is that clear?"

Although her face was obscured by the night, Obi-Wan could swear she'd rolled her eyes at him. "As Corellian glass."

"Good. Now let's get under way."

As the bike took off, travelling remarkably fast for a vehicle that sounded as if it would come apart at the lightest breeze, he slowly slid his arms about the Duchess's waist. Normally, he was not one for physical contact, but under the circumstances he decided that this was preferable to getting blasted off the bike. It was also, he had to admit, not entirely _un_pleasant. A much older, more experienced Obi-Wan would look back on this moment and understand that the little anxious thrill at the pit of his stomach was not so much about their current peril than it was about holding a woman for the first time in his life.

The Duchess shouted to be heard above the rush of air roaring past them. "How far should we go?"

"Until I say we should stop."

"Are you sure we can make it on this bike?"

"If I think we're in danger of crashing, I'll let you know. We can travel the rest of the way on foot."

"I realize that," the Duchess said slowly, "but I doubt we'll make it far without supplies."

"I thought we had supplies on all the bikes?"

"You unloaded them when you were fixing the bike!"

Obi-Wan blinked. How could he have been so daft? Of course, he knew why: He'd been so caught up in his argument with the Duchess that he hadn't thought to double-check the bike for supplies. But that just made him feel worse. He knew better than to let his emotions, especially aggravation, get the better of him, and yet somehow he'd done exactly that.

His silence must have spoken volumes to her, because he could sense a hint of worry in her voice when she asked, "What are we going to do?"

Honestly? He wasn't sure. They had an extra stash of rations and water that he hadn't removed from the bike, but how long that supply would last was anyone's guess. His best estimate was that they could survive a few days on what they had with them, perhaps even a week. But even having food and water didn't guarantee their survival. Already he could feel the chill of the Mandalorian night slicing at his skin, threatening to overcome him.

"I'll think of something," he said, and knew as soon as he'd said it how hollow his words must have sounded.

"Is that meant to reassure me? If so, I'm afraid you're failing spectacularly."

"Might I suggest a little less sarcasm and a little more focus on the situation at hand?"

"When you devise a decent plan, perhaps."

"What did I just say about the sarcasm!"

"For a Jedi," the Duchess said, pretending she hadn't heard him, "you seem to have a particularly difficult time controlling your outbursts."

"Yes, well, most Jedi don't have the misfortune of being peppered with your sarcasm."

"That was sarcasm just now!"

"I never said-"

He was in the middle of saying "_I never said _I _couldn't use sarcasm_" when he felt his blood run cold, similar to the icy feeling when he and Qui-Gon had first noticed something was amiss. This time, however, he didn't have time to react. In the split second it took for his ice-cold blood to circulate his body, he felt something white-hot shoot through the right side of his chest. In another split second, he felt that heat sear through him toward his left side, where he saw a flash of yellow fly out of his chest like an uncaged bird.

He'd been shot through the chest.

For a few blessed moments, just as there was with any life-threatening injury, Obi-Wan felt no pain. He was calm, calm enough that he could reach out into the Force and sense that the Duchess, despite her flurry of wild cursing, was unharmed. But then that calm was replaced by a sudden pain that stole away his breath, and he was struck by the sudden understanding that he was hurt-badly.

He wasn't certain how hurt he was until a black film started covering his vision, turning the moonlit night into total darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Vaguely, as if floating from the edges of a dream, Obi-Wan was aware that his body was in pain. He could feel that he was broken, in need of mending, but he wasn't sure how he was broken or what needed mending. He wasn't even sure where he was, only that he was most likely still alive. At the very least, he wasn't dead yet, just in the process of becoming so.

The first hint that he was not only alive but not dying came when he heard a voice wafting toward his ears, as if trying to rouse him from sleep. And perhaps he was asleep. Everything around him had the lightness and whimsy of a dream, springing up from the whims of his mind. Only this voice, softer and sweeter even than the dream, was anchored to reality.

The voice would come to him now and again, always so soft and sweet. But it was not enough to rouse him from whatever state he was in. Just as the voice would almost bring him back, pulling him out of unconsciousness like a hand pulling someone from below the surface of the sea, he would fade back in again, lost in the dream. Three times, he thought he would be lost forever; he would fade back into the irrationality of the dream, reality slowing draining away. But then he felt something touch his hand with skin that was softer and sweeter than the voice, and this time it was the dream that drained away, like a tide receding from a shore. In its place was the touch, the voice, and a blinding ray of light.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan blinked against the light but was too frightened of being lost in the dream that he dared not close his eyes. He was uncertain of how long he had been trapped in the dream-time had lost all meaning when he was in that dreamworld-but he judged by his eyes' sluggishness to adjust to light that he had been asleep or unconscious for quite some time. His mouth also felt oddly dry, as if he it had been ages since he last drank, and he wondered vaguely if someone had been giving him water during this time or if he had somehow drank for himself during his dreams. Someone else certainly had been here; someone had touched him, spoken to him. And, he now realized as his senses began to reawaken, that someone had removed his tunic, boots, and belt. Thankfully, he was still wearing his trousers-he could feel their familiar roughness against his legs-but the thought that someone other than himself had removed the other articles of clothing was unnerving. He wasn't accustomed to letting someone see him so open, so exposed.

"Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan blinked, but this time it wasn't because of the light. No, his eyes were fairly well-adjusted now, could make out the wooden walls and ceiling of whatever place he now found himself in. His blink was one of confusion, as if by doing so he could adjust to reality just as his eyes had adjusted to the light.

"Jedi Kenobi," the same voice said again. And not only the same voice from a moment ago. It dawned on him that this was the same voice that had come to him in his dreams, the only remnant of reality that had reached him in that place. It sounded different now, certainly; the voice had lost the sweetness of the dreamworld. But in place of the sweetness was the reassurance of the familiar.

Seated next where he lay on the ground, wearing an expression of mild concern, was the Duchess.

"I'm here now," he said, his voice sounding a little rough. Perhaps he had gone far too long without using it.

The Duchess's face, smeared with a mixture of soil and blood, seemed to relax. "I was beginning to think you were never going to come to."

"And why is that?"

The Duchess frowned. "You don't remember?"

Obi-Wan frowned in return. He had a vague memory of something happening to him-of something shooting through and leaving him broken. He also had a pain in the left side of his ribs, but he couldn't quite recall what had caused that pain. He wasn't even certain if the pain had improved during his time in the dreamworld or if it had been a constant, steady flow of pain.

"You were shot," the Duchess explained, reading his bemusement. "I never saw the shooter, so it could have been from a long-range blaster rifle. But I'm not sure. What I am certain of is that you're quite fortunate to be alive." She nodded toward the painful spot in his ribs, which he now saw was covered by a wrapping of bandages. "Whoever shot you seemed to miss your vital organs."

Obi-Wan continued staring at the bandages. "Did you do this?"

"I found some medical supplies in the bike."

He let himself tense somewhat. It was slightly disconcerting that the Duchess had been the one to remove his tunic. It was too close for his liking, too...intimate.

"Where are we now, then?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I found an abandoned hovel after you were injured. It was the only place I thought would be warm enough for us to survive the night." She paused for a moment before adding, "I didn't dare risk any of the villages. I have many friends on this world but also many enemies."

It was just then that Obi-Wan remembered that the Duchess was not welcomed by everyone on her world. That was why Qui-Gon and he were on Mandalore: To protect her from the insurgents who disagreed with her political ideals. Obi-Wan himself found her ideals difficult to swallow; although he had never seen true war, combat was second nature to him, was a part of who he was. He couldn't imagine relinquishing that side of himself to appease the pacifist ideals of a woman he wasn't convinced could handle the burden of leadership.

Although…

He looked up from his bandaged ribs, considering her. Seeing someone get shot, even it was a person one did not particularly like, was a jarring experience, one in which few people could maintain their calm. He knew from personal experience; he had once seen a fellow padawan get shot in the abdomen, a beam of sunlight streaming through the padawan's open wound. He'd been so frightened then, so terrified that he would be shot or that the padawan would die, that he had almost forgotten where he was. Perhaps even forgotten who he was. It was only through the strength and resolve of his Jedi training that he had been able to pull himself back from the fear and keep fighting, pressing toward whatever objective he'd been given for that mission. He couldn't imagine how an ordinary being, especially one as seemingly delicate as the Duchess, could overcome that same wall of fear and have enough presence of mind to seek shelter and tend to his wounds.

Perhaps, he admitted for the first time, the Duchess was not as soft as she appeared.

As if understanding that he was thinking of her, the Duchess met his gaze. "What is it?"

"Nothing, really," he said quickly, lowering his eyes. For some reason, her gaze unnerved him. "I'm simply grateful for everything you did for me."

Although he was too uncomfortable to make eye contact, he noticed a slight flush touch her pale cheeks. "Think nothing of it. I only did what was right."

"Well, I suppose that's something on which we finally agree."

"I'm certain that will be the last thing. For a Jedi knight, you have a peculiar lack of wisdom."

"Jedi _padawan_. They don't give you the wisdom until they cut off the braid."

She looked at him again, this time studying him more intently. "Is that what that is? A sign of your status?"

"Or lack thereof."

A tiny smile formed her lips. "And all this time I thought you just had a horrific taste in haircuts."

Despite himself, despite everything that had happened, he smiled at that. Or perhaps, in this moment, he was forgetting that he and the Duchess were on the run, that their lives were in peril. Even looking back, he wasn't entirely sure which it was. All he knew was that it was a relief to be alive and that, for the time being, he hadn't failed in his mission to protect the Duchess.

And then he tried to move, and he was faced with the reality of just how badly he was injured.

"You should lay still," the Duchess said.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth against the sharp pain flaring through his chest. "And you decided not to mention this until now?"

"It never came up," she said, in an infuriatingly innocent tone. Perhaps sensing some of his aggravation, she added, "You'll have plenty of time to think of how much you hate me. It will take some time for you to heal."

"How lovely." He lifted his head slightly off the makeshift pillow the Duchess had placed under his head. "Any word from Master Qui-Gon?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing. He's either waiting till everything's clear, or he's…"

Her voice trailed off, as if she dared not speak the unspeakable. He couldn't blame her. His own throat tightened at the unspoken scenario, making him feel as though the fear that grabbed at his heart would take the rest of him, too.

"I'm sure Master Qui-Gon knows what he's doing," he said, trying to convince himself more than her.

Her eyes, which he noted for the first time were the same blue as the sky, locked onto his. "But do we know what we're doing?"

"That depends." With his right hand, he gestured vaguely toward the collection of small crates on the ground around him. "How many supplies do we have left?"

"Still the same amount of food," she said. "Neither of us have eaten in the two days we've been here. The only thing I've had is water." She glanced at his bandages. "I was afraid you couldn't swallow, so I never tried to give you water."

"Well, you have my thanks for not drowning me in my unconscious state." He looked pointedly at their meager collection of supplies. "I wouldn't mind some water now, though."

In response, the Duchess fished out a canteen, handing it to his right hand-his uninjured side. "You won't need to ration this. I found a river nearby, so we have as much water as we need."

Raising the canteen to his lips, he sighed. "If only we could say the same about our food."

"If we ration it, we could make it last past a week," she pointed out.

"Yes, but what about after that? For all we know, Qui-Gon is in the same state as us or worse. It could be weeks before we can find a way safely out of here."

A hint of defiance lit her sky blue eyes. "You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, well, forgive me for trying to be a realist. I'm only preparing for the worst."

"And in doing that, you don't let yourself hope for the best."

There was an echo of Qui-Gon in her words, which was odd. She'd only known Qui-Gon for a few weeks, but already he could see that she looked up to his Master. He couldn't blame her; although he was not unaware of his Master's faults, he admired his Master more than he did any other living being. Perhaps that was the way he might have looked up to his father, if he had never been brought to the Temple.

And what if he'd never been brought to the Temple? It was a dangerous thought, one that he rarely entertained. A Jedi could become lost in all of the possibilities, all of the _what-ifs_ of the road not taken.

And yet…

For just a moment or two, he let himself imagine himself in a different life, one where he had never been found by the Jedi. One where he had never come to Mandalore-or, at the very least, had come here under very different circumstances. Maybe he would have moved here to start a new life, a family. Perhaps he may have never cared about the Duchess or her politics, provided they didn't harm him or his children. His wife.

Wife.

That was the most dangerous _what-if_ of all, one that if he dwelled on it, he might truly become lost.

As if in an attempt to clear his thoughts, he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

The Duchess frowned. "For what?"

Suddenly tired, more tired than he had been since emerging from unconsciousness, he set down the canteen and look her in the eye. "Sorry that you're here, with me. I'm not the right Jedi to protect you. On my own, without Master Qui-Gon, I'm nothing."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I don't have his faith. His assurance. When things go wrong, I see only the negative, and I can't find a way out." He lowered his gaze, eye setting on his bandages, the reminder that he had a breaking point. "You deserve more than that, and I'm sorry."

Her frown turned to an expression of mild pain-although what was causing that pain, he couldn't be sure. "Perhaps that is so, but you are the Jedi I'm with now, and apologizing for it won't change that fact. And perhaps not being the 'right Jedi' isn't such an awful thing."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you're much less aggravating when you're not trying to be the perfect Jedi."

Was it just him, or was there the hint of a smile on her lips? He returned his gaze to her, as if his scrutiny might reveal the answer. As if someone as dull and unimportant as he could figure out what thoughts and emotions might be churning behind those brilliant, sparkling eyes.

He allowed himself a small smile. "You're less infuriating when you're not trying to convince me that you rule a planet."

And then he was sure that she was smiling, because the smile became so broad and bright that it rivaled the sunlight streaming through the wooden boards of their little makeshift sanctuary.

"You're not what I first imagined you to be," she said, and then slipped out of the hovel, leaving him to ponder what that might mean.


	3. Chapter 3

Qui-Gon, as obstinate as he was, had once remarked that there were few who could rival Obi-Wan's stubbornness. It was, in his master's opinion, both his best trait and worst flaw; he could just as easily dig in his heels and stand up for what was right as be unwilling to admit his errors. According to his master, the secret to true strength was to recognize the difference-to know when to stand in defiance and when to concede.

Obi-Wan couldn't tell which category the Duchess fell into, but of one thing he was certain: She was one of those few who rivaled his stubbornness.

Although Obi-Wan had no way to tell the time-he had left his chronometer behind at the camp-he estimated that they had been arguing for close to half an hour. Worse still, neither of them had given any ground in that time. And probably neither of them was willing to do so. They were locked in a verbal stalemate, neither wishing to change their mind or admit they stood in the wrong.

"...And we both know that we don't have access to any meds at the moment," the Duchess was saying, arms folded across her chest. "If you don't wash up soon, I suspect your wound will be host to all manner of infections."

Obi-Wan ran a hand over his face, letting out an irritated sigh. "And I hardly think an infection will matter if either of us is spotted outside!"

"I go outside everyday," the Duchess pointed out. "That's how we get our water."

"Then bring some water inside and I can clean the wound myself!"

"The sun and fresh air will do you good. And besides, if we follow the river we may find a village where we can collect more supplies."

"And what if the village is full of your enemies?"

"That will hardly matter," the Duchess said, echoing his earlier words, "if we starve to death first."

Obi-Wan let out another sigh. She was right, of course; over the past five days since he'd come to, their food supply was running dangerously low. He estimated that they had a day, perhaps two, before they ran out of food completely.

"You know I'm right," the Duchess said, as if reading his thoughts. "Please; let's just get you outside and we can see if you're fit enough to search for a village."

With a twinge of pain, Obi-Wan forced himself to sit up. "I'm always fit enough. Even when injured I was positively the portrait of strength."

"Only in your fantasies. Now, come on; let's see if you can make it to the river before we go anywhere else."

It made Obi-Wan's body shriek with pain, but somehow he was able to push himself to his feet and get out of the hovel that had been his home for the past week. His pain increased somewhat as he tried to navigate his way down to the river bank, which was steep in comparison with the rest of Mandalore's flat, arid landscape. It was a relief when he was finally able to plop down at the edge of the bank..

The Duchess lowered herself down beside him, still managing to look regal despite her tattered robes. "Do you need help getting in?"

Breathing somewhat heavily from the effort of climbing down the river bank in his injured state, he shook his head. "Plopping myself into slow-moving water is perhaps the easiest thing I've done in the past week."

"And the hardest thing in the past week I've done is put up with your humor."

He turned to look at her then, and when he did, he saw that she was smiling. Not a weak smile, or the half smiles Obi-Wan himself was known for. This smile was warm, inviting-although to what he was being invited to, he couldn't tell. Women were difficult to read.

"I do my best to entertain, Duchess," he said, returning her smile.

"I'm sure you do," she said, patting his knee. "But I'd prefer you refer to me as Satine."

Obi-Wan looked down to where her hand lingered on his knee. As a rule, Jedi assigned to protection duty tried to avoid using their charge's first name. First names complicated things, blurred the line between protector and protectee. Worst of all, if the time came and a Jedi failed in his duty to protect, the loss would be more personal than if the charge had remained distant, yet another passing figure in a Jedi's constantly-changing life.

But in a moment that Obi-Wan would later come to both relish and regret, Obi-Wan decided that he didn't care.

"Satine it is," he said, his smile broadening.

"In that case…" She reached for the strip of cloth holding back her hair, letting her blonde locks fall about her shoulders like a golden cascade. "Would you care to join Satine in the river?"

For some inexplicable reason, Obi-Wan couldn't take his eyes off Satine's hair. The way it moved, the way it caught the light, was mesmerizing to him. Made him want to reach out and stroke it with the tips of his fingers.

Satine must have noticed him staring, because her smile quickly turned into a frown. "What?"

Turning his head to hide the flush that was rising in his cheeks, Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's nothing. We should get into the water before we lose the light."

Thankful for the distraction, Obi-Wan focused on pulling off his boots and belt. With a slight hesitation, he decided to slide out of his tunic as well, and set about unwinding the bandages from his chest. Satine was probably doing something similar; he could see that her boots and belt were also on the ground, but he didn't feel like checking to see if she'd removed her tunic as well. Only when he heard the gentle splash of Satine entering the water did he dare look up.

And what he saw there made him catch his breath.

Obi-Wan had heard rumors of the Angels of Iego, beings so beautiful they could stop even the most hardened smuggler in their tracks. According to legend, they had slender, porcelain frames and flowing hair that gave them an almost ethereal quality, as if they didn't belong in the physical realm. Obi-Wan knew that some theorized that the Angels could be the souls of those who had yet to be one with the Force, trapped between this world and the next by something they had done in life-or something they had failed to do.

In that moment, gazing at the woman in the river, Obi-Wan wondered for a moment if he had stumbled upon such a being.

And then felt a wave of guilt crash against his moment of awe.

Perhaps sensing the shift in his demeanor, Satine's brows drew together in a slight frown. "Is everything alright?"

Cheeks still flushed, Obi-Wan directed his gaze toward the ground. "I just need a moment."

The expression on her face said that she wasn't buying his vague excuse, but she graciously relented. "Let me help you into the water."

"Thank you, but I'm fully capable of doing so alone."

"I know that," Satine said evenly. "But you don't have to do everything by yourself." She took a small step toward him. "What do you have to fear from having someone at your side?"

Truthfully? Truthfully, he didn't know. Just a few minutes ago he had been willing to let his guard down, to blur the barrier between protector and protectee. He hated to admit it, but he had actually enjoyed the privilege of using her first name, relishing the fact that this was something she allowed only a handful of people to do.

He liked the thought that he and the Duchess shared something special.

But of course he couldn't say that. Not now. Perhaps not ever. The life of a Jedi made it difficult to forge a connection with anyone, no matter how one felt.

Obi-Wan finally dared to meet her gaze. Her face, which had been slightly bemused before, now looked warmer. Softer.

"Let me help you," she said, her voice even softer still.

Change, when it happens, is often difficult to see. Day to day, one never notices the growth of the plants underfoot, the slow shifting of the seasons. It is all-too easy to simply brush past all of these things, to continue forging ahead until one finds oneself at the end of their life. Perhaps because it is easier to live like this-easier to always be on the move. That way, one never has to look back and see, in bitter regret, all of the moments that could have been.

This was one of those rare moments when Obi-Wan recognized that something within him was changing.

With that, Obi-Wan felt something inside him break. He wasn't sure what it was at the time; he was too young then, had seen too little of the world. Years later, when he would stand above a hellish landscape and watch his life burn away, he would understand that the brokeness was the feeling that one was truly, utterly alone.

It was difficult, coming to grips with the fact that he had lived most of his life in isolation, pushing others away. It hurt, too, perhaps even more than the blaster bolt that nearly ended his life. But it was not an impossible pain. He could push through it, endure it as he had already endured so much, and try to fix the brokeness within.

His first step toward becoming whole was reaching out and taking Satine's hand.

As she helped him into the water, her fingers soft against his calloused hands, he saw for the first time what he had been missing all his life. There was something of course to say about being resilient, about all the times he had gritted his teeth and simply took whatever it was the Force had in store for him. Resilience had kept him alive, kept him moving forward, when few other things could. But there was also something to be said for the feeling he had now, the warm relief of letting go of all his strength and resolve and, for just a moment, allowing someone else to be the stronger one.

It was a beautiful thing, vulnerability.

She was smiling at him now. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

He grinned. "Less difficult than arguing with you."

"That's because I'm usually right."

He lifted an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Does this mean that the wise and all-knowing Duchess Satine can be wrong?"

"Believe it or not, I've been wrong about a matter or two."

"Do you care to share what those matters might have been? Or does the Duchess need to keep an air of mystery about her?"

"No more mysterious than the Jedi," she retorted dryly.

"To be fair, I've already shared some of my Jedi secrets-like how my padawan braid isn't a signifier of my questionable taste in hairstyles."

Mock rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "Ah, yes. Just what everyone was wondering about the Jedi. I suppose now you'll tell me that those bland tunics you wear are the secret to your Jedi powers."

"The real secret is blue milk, I'm told."

She blinked at him. "Blue milk?"

"Bantha milk," he explained. Then he frowned. "I suppose you don't get off-world much, do you?"

"Actually, I've spent almost half my life off-world. My father sent me to the academy of political sciences on Coruscant when I was twelve, hoping he could shape me into the leader he never could be."

The smile slowly faded from Obi-Wan's face as he sensed a tinge of sadness from her. "I'm sure you'll be that leader one day, Satine."

"Perhaps," she said, and now she wasn't looking at him. She was looking past him, at a memory only she could see. "I only fear that his death will be vain-that Mandalore will never know the peace he fought so hard to see."

"Mandalore is a troubled world," he admitted, "but you have the strength to rise above those troubles. I know it. I've seen it-in the way you keep going, despite everything that's happened. Just look at us now: You have faith that we'll make it to a village and somehow find the supplies we need, but here I am doubting every step." He stepped closer to her. "Peace exists in the minds of the faithful. If you continue on in your convictions, I know your people will live to see peace."

Her eyes met his, searching. "I thought you didn't belief in my cause."

He reached out, daring to touch her shoulder. "I believe in you."

Satine seemed to change under his touch, almost as if she was melting under him. In response, his heart quickened, rocketing about in his chest like a groundquake. He was afraid-afraid to move closer, but also afraid of what might happen if he pulled away. Would he lose something, if he passed this moment by? He could sense that he would; whatever small trust he had built with Satine would be broken, perhaps irreparably so.

That was something he couldn't bear.

So he cast aside his fear and moved closer, his heart thudding like a super nova in his ears. She moved closer, too, and for a brief moment they were drawing toward each other as if the strings of fate themselves were pulling them together. As if every moment of time, of all existence, was leading up to this moment.

And then his comm-link chimed from the bank.

Both of them suddenly sprung apart, brought back to reality by the familiar sound. Satine's face was slightly flushed and her eyes were wide, wider than he'd ever seen them, as if she still couldn't grasp what had almost happened. He couldn't blame her; he was shocked himself, his heart thundering even louder than before. He could also feel a sudden heat spreading across his face, and as he stumbled up the bank to grab the comm-link, he silently thanked the Force that this comm-link was audio-only.

"Kenobi here," he said, somewhat breathless.

"_Obi-Wan_." Although it was muffled, there was a definite trace of relief in Qui-Gon's voice. "_The coast is clear. Would you care for some Uj cake, my young apprentice?._"

He could sense Satine's confusion in the Force at Qui-Gon's last phrase, but he knew exactly what his master meant. Several years ago, when he and Qui-Gon were still working out the kinks in their relationship, his master had developed a series of code phrases to use when transmitting sensitive information via comm-link. This particular phrase, he recalled, had been developed while en route to Mandalore as a way to inquire, "_Is the Duchess safe?"_

"Uj cake is fine," he said without missing a beat. _The Duchess is safe._ "Would you care to have some tea with it?" _Can you come to my location?_

"_It depends. What kinds of tea can you offer me?"_ _Were you followed?_

"I'm afraid I'm out of tea." _We weren't followed._

A small sigh of relief from Qui-Gon's end. "_What a shame. Is the weather pleasant where you are?"_ _I need to find you. Turn on your tracking beacon.._

Obi-Wan flipped on the tracking beacon on the inside of his comm-link. "Of course it is. Will you be needing anything else, master?"

"_Just some Drabooni biscuits, if you don't mind. Qui-Gon out._"

As he tucked the comm-link back into his belt, he felt Satine move closer. "I take it you both knew what you were talking about."

He nodded, the movement every bit as awkward as he now felt. "It sounds as though we're going to Draboon."

The tightness in her voice was almost palpable. "That's...good news."

Still not facing her, he let out a sigh. They both knew that something had happened, that the nature of their relationship had changed. The trouble was that neither one of them wanted to acknowledge it-the bantha in the room, as it were.

"Obi-Wan..." Satine said slowly, as if she were having trouble searching for the words.

He still wouldn't look at her. "Perhaps we should put that behind us for the moment."

Despite his discomfort, he finally turned to face her. Her expression echoed everything he was feeling in this moment: Confusion, fear, hurt. Perhaps even a faint whisper of hope, hidden among the shadows of their darker emotions.

"Yes," her expression as unreadable as it ever been. "Yes, I think that's best."

And with that, she began walking back to the hovel, leaving him standing alone in the fading light.


	4. Chapter 4

Forgetting, Obi-Wan would find out, would prove more difficult than it seemed.

He had been happy to, at first. Pretending that nothing had changed between he and had made things easier, at least while they were stuck together in the hovel. It would have been unbearably awkward, after all, if they had spent their last twelve hours alone talking about the moment they'd shared. But once those twelve hours were over and Qui-Gon had picked them up in his ship, the refusal to acknowledge that anything had changed was more uncomfortable than the change itself.

Perhaps the most awkward part of it all was the fact that he knew Qui-Gon wasn't blind to the tension between Obi-Wan and the Duchess of Mandalore. There was a possibility that his master didn't understand the nature of what had transpired between them, that their time alone together had knitted them together in a way that neither of them could truly understand. But he had noticed something. He had to. Obi-Wan and Satine had barely spoken to each other in the days since Qui-Gon had rescued them, and in the rare occasions when they did converse, their voices were tight. Overly controlled. That was a stark contrast, Obi-Wan knew, from the time when their relationship consisted of arguments and barbed comebacks.

So as their ship had approached the opalescent landscape that was Draboon, Obi-Wan had expected Qui-Gon to say something. What he might say, Obi-Wan wasn't sure; perhaps his master would approach it with humor, ask why he and Satine hadn't gotten into a row in a while. Or maybe he might be more direct and ask what had happened to make he and Satine so...on edge. What he hadn't expected was for Satine to wander into the medbay, where he'd been recovering from the last vestiges of his injury, and seat herself next to his bed.

"Duchess," he said, the usual tightness in his voice giving way to surprise. "I didn't expect to see you back here."

"Neither did I." She risked a quick glance up at him before her gaze slid toward the ground. "I wanted to say I was sorry. Sorry if I made things...unprofessional...between us."

Sighing, Obi-Wan swung his legs over the side of the medbay bed so that he could sit up and face her. "It's me who should apologize. I made the first move. I let my emotions get the better of me and I sacrificed our working relationship because of it." He sighed again. "And I regret doing it. I truly do. But…"

Satine straightened in her chair. "But what?"

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was tired-tired of being on the run, tired of fearing what might happen next. But most of all, he was tired of denying the truth.

"But there is a part of me that doesn't regret it," he replied softly. "Perhaps my judgement is clouded by emotion, but in that moment I felt that it was right, even though a part of me knew that it was the holotext definition of _not right._"

"It felt right to me as well," she said. "And you're correct-perhaps emotions were clouding our judgement. But it's difficult for me to dismiss what happened between us as an accident. As us simply being caught up in the moment."

"But it was a very...emotional...moment," he pointed out.

"If that were the case, our feelings would have subsided as soon as the moment was over. Yet here we are, sharing that we still feel something." She finally looked up at him, her eyes as clear and blue as a cloudless sky. "And I think those feelings have only grown stronger."

Despite the temptation to look away, Obi-Wan found himself transfixed by her gaze. She was right, per usual: His feelings certainly had grown. Instead of the nervous, heart-pounding feeling he had felt while they were in the river, he now felt as if a steady force was drawing them together, similar to the way two planets might be pulled into the gravity well of a star.

He searched her gaze, as if he might find an explanation there for what they felt. "So what does this mean?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Perhaps it means nothing. But perhaps we can let this happen and see where it goes, and perhaps we'll see if this truly does mean something."

Despite himself, he chuckled at that. "You're beginning to sound like a Jedi Master."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Because you have an uncanny knack for making the seemingly contradictory make sense."

"None of this makes sense, when you truly think of it. I'm the leader of a planet known for its hatred of Jedi, and yet here I am, admitting I feel something for a Jedi. And you…" She studied him, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "You also have something that should keep you from feeling this way. I've seen it in your eyes. By the river, when we were alone in the hovel, there was something about you that made you look as though you were holding back."

Obi-Wan looked away. This was something he never wanted to talk about, especially with her. How could he explain, to an outsider, why Jedi had to remain distant, so aloof? Even a decade or so later, when Obi-Wan would try to spare his apprentice from heartache, it had been difficult to explain the necessity-but also the tragedy-of remaining unattached.

"Jedi are not meant to feel things for other people," he said at last. "At least we're not supposed to feel things the things the way that ordinary people do. We are not forbidden from having emotions-we feel anger, fear, and love just as strongly as everyone else. But a Jedi is not meant to dwell on these things. They...cloud our judgment. Make us do things we ought not to." He looked at her over his shoulder. "Even some of the more positive feelings can lead us to places where we should not go. The fear of losing something precious is a powerful motivator."

"And what do you feel for me?"

"I'm not sure, but I'd like to find out."

She smiled and reached up to grab his hand. "We can find out together."

"Together," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

THREE MONTHS LATER, Draboon

Obi-Wan was uncertain how he felt about Draboon. On one hand, the planet was an easy place to hide, with its remote canyons and desolate terrain. On the other hand...it had remote canyons and desolate terrain.

Over the past three months or so, Obi-Wan had tried to mask his displeasure with their uncomfortable treks across rocky terrain. But he had failed. Satine had noted his annoyance a day into their time on Draboon, and Qui-Gon soon after. Now they both derived a perverse sense of pleasure from Obi-Wan's vexation.

"You seem a bit peeved," Satine commented innocently, as they set off into yet another rocky landscape.

"Forgive me if I'm not a fan of the rain," Obi-Wan retorted dryly, pulling the hood of his cloak further over his face. "Especially rain on Draboon. It has a much higher acidity than rain on other worlds."

"I've heard the same about your attitude."

A face paces ahead of them, he could sense amusement from Qui-Gon. "Perhaps the Duchess should have been assigned as your master, Obi-Wan. She seems more than capable of putting you in your place."

Despite his annoyance, Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. Since he and Satine had agreed to explore whatever was developing between them, the Duchess had been more than willing to match Obi-Wan's dry humor. He had to admit, there were perhaps even times when her wit rivaled his.

"That's a tempting offer," Obi-Wan replied. "But I'm afraid that you're much easier to argue with than her."

That elicited a soft chuckle from his master. "On that point, my young padawan, you are correct." He stopped, fished out a pair of binocs from his belt and put them up to his eyes. "Let's see if we can find some temporary shelter for us to spend the night. As you said, a Drabooni rain storm isn't the most ideal place to find oneself."

"Perhaps a cave might do," Satine suggested.

A hint of a smile from Qui-Gon. "For royalty, you have an uncanny affinity for caverns, Duchess."

"Perhaps it's because you've taught me to think strategically, master Qui-Gon. The caves on Draboon appear to be particularly difficult to spot from a distance."

"Which is more than you could say for our tents," Obi-Wan added.

Qui-Gon shot Obi-Wan a questioning look from over the rim of his binocs. Obi-Wan was fully aware that Qui-Gon had sensed his growing fondness for the Duchess, but never had his master confronted him about it. He had only given him a few looks, like the one he was giving him now, that said that the older man was privy to the feelings Obi-Wan harbored for their charge.

Feelings Obi-Wan didn't yet fully understand.

Just they had promised each other, he and Satine had used their time on Draboon to explore what they felt for each other. But the trouble was that they didn't have much time alone, now that they were back with Qui-Gon. There were only a few stolen moments in a given week when they could be alone, when they could tell each other what they were feeling. When they could grow closer-through talking, or sometimes by simply being comfortable with being together in the silence of a mostly empty planet. He looked back fondly on a particular moment when they had sat together under the stars, Satine's head resting against his shoulder.

He had to look away so that Qui-Gon would not notice the wistful smile on his face.

After a few minutes of scanning the terrain, Qui-Gon lowered his binocs and handed them to Obi-Wan. "See that cave, just below the ridge? I need you to take the Duchess there while I survey the perimeter. Even if our enemies have difficulty spotting caves, they could be recon-ing this area."

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to give Qui-Gon a dubious look. Was his master sending them ahead because he thought it would be safer to survey the perimeter without them, or was he intentionally providing them with an opportunity to be alone? From Qui-Gon's artfully neutral expression, Obi-Wan couldn't be certain which it was-but he decided he didn't care. It wasn't everyday that he could be alone with Satine.

"Of course, master," Obi-Wan replied after a moment of hesitation. "Duchess, would you care to join me on a quick jaunt across this Force-forsaken rock?"

Satine looked at Qui-Gon with a look of feigned exasperation. "Do you ever find yourself wanting to let him know he's not as charming as he thinks he is?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "I only wish I could deny it." He clapped Obi-Wan over the shoulder. "Try to survive her wit while I'm away. I shouldn't be gone long."

"I should hope not," he answered dryly. "May the Force be with you, master."

"And with you," his master said, and left them standing together at the top of a small, rocky hill.

"Well," Obi-Wan said, frowning at the rough terrain that stretched out ahead of them. "This should be entertaining."

"Not as entertaining as teasing you."

"I'm beginning to wish that sniper's blaster bolt had hit me a few inches up and to the left…"

She gave him a light slap on the arm. "Don't say things like that. It would be a shame to lose someone with such a handsome face."

He shot her a wink. "Not to worry, Duchess. I have quite the penchant for averting death."

"How about you develop a penchant for getting us to the cave. Then perhaps…"

She trailed off, invitingly. In response, Obi-Wan flushed, dropping his eyes to the ground. He was still a little bit reserved with her, wasn't as confident as his flirting made him seem.

She must have noticed his discomfort because she reached up and put her palm to his face, warm and soft and reassuring. "Your chivalry is rather endearing."

"More endearing than my charm?"

She pulled a face. "Obi-Wan, you can have complete confidence in me when I say that almost anything is more endearing than that."

"I try my best." With a flourish, he offered his hand to her. "Would you care to join me on a small walk, Duchess?"

Her hand dropped from his face and took his hand in hers. "Only if you refrain from complaining about the weather."

"No promises."

The walk to the cave was fairly uneventful, silent save for the sound of their banter. The only difficulty came when they finally arrived at the mouth of the cave, which was set a good nine or so meters into the rock above them. On his own, he could have simply Force-leapt into the cave-but he wasn't certain he had the strength to leap while carrying Satine. So either he could try to Force-leap with Satine-and risk a spectacular failure-or they could each brave the climb on their own.

He glanced at Satine. "Do you think you can climb this?"

She frowned at the wall of rock. "I can try."

"In that case…" He hoisted himself up onto the nearest foothold, a rock that jutted out a meter and a half above the ground. "Follow me."

As they climbed, Obi-Wan began to immediately regret not trying to Force-leap with Satine. A steady stream of drizzle was still falling around them, making the rocks dark and slick. It would be all-too easy for Satine to lose her grip and fall.

Obi-Wan glanced downward. Satine was following him, slowly but surely, but he could tell she was struggling. With her white-knuckle grip on the rock, she looked as if she were either about to fall or was absolutely terrified that she was going to fall-or perhaps some combination of the two.

"This isn't working," he shouted down at her. "Wait there while I scale to the top. Perhaps I can secure a grappeling hook of some sort in the cave."

"Given the circumstances, I'll gladly wait."

With one glance back to make sure Satine wasn't on the verge of plummeting to her death, Obi-Wan made his way toward the cave's mouth. Once he reached the bottom of the mouth, he sprang upward, carrying himself forward with a single front-flip. He then landed lightly on his feet and looked back down, to where Satine was clinging to the rock face.

She glowered up at him. "Show-off."

He grinned. "I thought you liked it when I show off?"

"Your showing off is even less endearing than your charm."

"From a certain point of view." He opened a pouch on his utility belt and pulled out a coiled cable and grappeling hook. "Hold on while I find a place to attach the grappeling hook."

"Like I have a choice."

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, filling the cavern with blue light. Unfortunately, the cave walls didn't appear to offer much of an anchoring point for his grappeling hook; the walls of the cave were smooth, with few crevices in which he could anchor his equipment. Only the mass of bulging stone below his feet appeared to have anything resembling an anchoring point, but even then, the stone was so moist that it appeared to offer little in the way of friction. He could of course see if there were anchoring points further into the caves; perhaps the stone was rougher back there, was less eroded than what he saw here. But even then, he doubted his cable would be long enough to reach Satine.

He let out a resigned sigh. The inexplicably moist stone would have to do. He would just have to be sure to find some way of ensuring the grappeling hook stayed in place-perhaps by putting some weight on it, or perhaps with the Force.

A few seconds later, Obi-Wan sorely regretted his decision.

As soon as he plunged the grappeling hook into one of the grooves of the stone, the stone under his feet started shuddering as if racked by a sudden groundquake. He thought for a passing moment that this might just be a groundquake when the shudders transformed into a sporadically pulsing wave, reminding him of the way an animal's body might convulse and seize in the throes of death. It was entirely possible that this comparison wasn't that far off; he and Qui-Gon had encountered their share of tunnels, grottos, or caves that had turned out to be living creatures. In fact, Obi-Wan was half expecting to be swallowed up into some massive creature's cavernous gullet when he looked down, finding himself staring at hundreds of glowing yellow eyes.

A flash of panic gripped Obi-Wan. The stone wasn't stone at all, but rather a mass of some sort of arthropodic creatures that were now unfurling beneath his feet like an army awakening from sleep. To his horror, they appeared appeared to be equipped with a set of pincer-like mandibles nearly as big as his forearm, which tried to grab for him as he ran out of the cave. Fortunately, he was able to slice through the pincers with his lightsaber-but he wasn't quite fast enough to escape unscathed. Just before he somersaulted out of the cave's mouth, one of the creatures clamped down on his right leg, instantly sending a burning sensation throughout his entire leg.

He realized, belatedly, that the creatures must've been venomous.

Landing with a pain that nearly caused him to cry out, Obi-Wan pulled Satine off the rock wall and tried to hoist her into his arms. That caused him even more pain. And, to make matters worse, Satine was resisting him, trying to worm her way out of his arms.

The look she gave him was even more toxic than the venom coursing through his veins. "What in the blazes are you doing?"

"Trying to get us out of here!"

Satine opened her mouth as if to retort, but she fell silent as a wave of the arthropods suddenly appeared at the mouth of the cave, pincers snapping viciously.

Satine's eyes widened. "Venomites!"

As another wave of pain racked through Obi-Wan, he let go of Satine, who grabbed his hand and started pulling him away from the cave. Together, both of them bolted toward the rocky plain ahead, his heart pounding so loudly that he was certain Satine could hear it. He could certainly feel it: With the venom coursing through his veins, each pump of his heart meant another wave of searing pain. The only thing worse he could imagine in this instance was if the venom suddenly took effect, stalling his heart and lungs and who knew what else.

To make matters worse, the plain on which he and Satine were running was actually the top of a plateau, with the sides falling steeply to either side of them. In Obi-Wan's estimation, the plateau was at least thirty meters above the ground-and that was his more conservative estimate. But that didn't matter at the moment. What did was the fact that the venomites were closing swiftly upon them, so swiftly that Obi-Wan knew they wouldn't have time to climb down.

They would have to jump.

Obi-Wan grabbed Satine's hand. "Do you trust me?"

She gazed straight into his eyes. "Always."

"Then hold on."

Gritting his teeth against the pain flaring up his leg, Obi-Wan hoisted Satine into his arms and leapt off the plateau, Satine clinging desperately to him. They fell for only a moment, perhaps a few seconds at the most-but for Obi-Wan, that moment seemed to stretch outward, toward eternity. And then time snapped back and he was hitting the ground-hard.

Before he knew it, he was on the ground, skidding and rolling wildly. He was vaguely aware of Satine screaming somewhere-maybe behind him, maybe ahead. He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he didn't feel her in his arms, that she must have been wrenched away during the impact.

When he finally came to a stop, Obi-Wan lifted his head off the ground, searching desperately for any sign of her. The world kept spinning around him, a kaleidoscope of blurred color, and for a moment he thought he would either retch or pass out. It was only when the spinning stopped that he could see Satine behind him, struggling to get to her feet.

"Satine!" He was struggling to get up himself, but that didn't matter to him. His world right now-his reason for existing-was getting to Satine. To be with her again. "_Satine!"_

"I-I'm alright," she said weakly, clutching at her side. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," he said, even though he was the very definition of _not fine_. He was more concerned with Satine right now. "Are you hurt at all?"

As an answer, Satine's hand slid away from where it clutched her side, the palm drenched with blood.

"It doesn't hurt much," Satine said, looking dazed. And she probably was. Even with the Force cushioning their fall, the impact had been almost enough to shatter bones. The fact that he'd rolled into his fall might have been the only thing that had saved them both from a menagerie of broken bones.

"That's the adrenaline," he said, moving to get a closer look at her wound. Thankfully, there didn't appear to be any foreign objects in it, but it was deep enough that she would probably need suture sealant. "In a minute or so both of us will be in a world of hurt-which is more than I can say for the venomites if they try to..."

As if in answer, a flurry of movement caught Obi-Wan's eye-and he quickly realized that the venomites were made of sterner stuff than he had initially believed. Rolled into compact balls, dozens of venomites were flying off the plateau, coming to land virtually unharmed on the rocky ground. Evidently, their exoskeletons provided some degree of protection from the fall, which was more than he could say for either himself or Satine.

Satine looked to him. "What do we do now?"

"Get behind me," he said, lightsaber now ignited in his hand.

Her eyes widened. "Surely you can't take on all of those creatures by yourself."

"Satine, this isn't the time or place for arguing. Stay behind me, and be prepared to run when I say so."

Instead of getting behind him, Satine pulled out something from her robes. At first Obi-Wan thought it might be a comm-link, that she was trying to contact Master Qui-Gon for help, but then he saw that it was much larger than a comm-link. A moment or two later, he recognized the slender barrel of a blaster pistol-a sight which might not have been odd in anyone else's hands, but caused him to do a double-take when in the hands of Satine.

Obi-Wan stared at her, incredulous. "Since when do you carry blasters?"

"Not a blaster. A stun pistol-a gift from my late father."

"Oh, perfect. Just what I was hoping. We can stun the buggers and watch them all come-to in a few minutes."

She shot him a look. "Do you have a better idea?"

Looking at the encroaching tide of venomites, Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Then let's do this-together."

As if on cue, he and Satine settled back-to-back, he holding his lightsaber in the Soresu opening stance and Satine with her stun pistol gripped in both hands. When the first mass of venomites scurried toward them, Obi-Wan slashed through them with his lightsaber, filling the air with the smell of charred chitin and insectoid guts. As soon as they dropped to the ground, smoke streaming from their bisected bodies, Obi-Wan whirled, letting Satine come forward and fire a shot at the next wave of venomites. The stun bolt had a wide range, blasting into a dozen or so venomites before it dissipated, giving Obi-Wan the cue to return to the front.

"Are you sure you don't want to give up pacifism," Obi-Wan teased, lightsaber cutting through another wave of venomites. "You're rather handy with a blaster."

"_Stun pistol_," she reminded him, leveling another shot at the insectoid onslaught. "I'd rather die than carry a weapon that could kill."

"Yes. Well. Fortunately for you-" Obi-Wan paused to deliver a back-handed slash to a mass of venomites, stumbling somewhat from the wound in his leg. "-You happen to be with someone who has a lethal weapon on hand."

"Your most regrettable attribute."

Obi-Wan blinked. "You don't like that I carry a weapon?"

As Satine leveled her blaster at the writhing sheet of insects, she let out a frustrated sigh. "Can we not discuss this later?"

"Fine," he hissed out through gritted teeth.

In whirl of lightsaber and stun bolts, he and Satine continued to cut down venomites, wave after endless wave. When they were both exhausted, panting like a pair of winded Kijimi hounds, they both saw that the onslaught was finally over-at least for now. The only thing remaining of the venomites were their twitching, smoking frames.

"I think the stun bolts might have killed them," Obi-Wan said.

"They're not sentient beings," Satine retorted, a defensive edge entering her tone. "And they were bent on our destruction. Killing a swarm of insects is different from bathing in the blood of your own people."

Obi-Wan stared at her. "Satine, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," she bit back, shoving the stun pistol back into her robes. "But clearly you don't understand why I feel the way I do about violence." The look she shot him was absolutely caustic. "It's what I would expect from someone who so frequently relies upon violence."

He shook his head. "I don't understand. Everything I've done here-if I've ever hurt anyone in front of you, it was to protect you. I don't enjoy killing anymore than you do."

Her withering stare wilted into a pained look. "You still don't understand."

"Then help me understand. That's why we made our agreement, isn't it? So we could know each other more deeply?"

Satine's eyes drifted toward the ground. "Obi-Wan, I-"

Her words drifted off as a humanoid shadow fell over both of them, and for one horrifying instant, Obi-Wan wondered if the insurgents pursuing Satine had finally caught up to them. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility; Draboon was remote, devoid of almost all sentient life, but that didn't make it the perfect hiding spot. There was no such thing, after all; with the right amount of luck and determination, anyone could find anyone, almost anywhere.

And then Obi-Wan sensed his master's presence, and he relaxed.

"What happened here?" Qui-Gon asked, staring at the collection of dead venomites blanketing the ground. "I sensed you two were in danger."

"We're...fine...given the circumstances," Obi-Wan said, though he knew they looked and sounded anything but.

He continued to stare. "And those circumstances were…?"

"Venomites," Obi-Wan replied. He gestured to the bite in his leg, which was again flaring with pain now that his adrenaline was beginning to subside. "And I think it lives up to the 'venom' part of its name."

Qui-Gon smiled ruefully. "Ah, venomites. Master Dooku and I once fell into an entire nest of them." He chuckled. "The bites aren't fatal, but when you've been bitten by one, you'll begin to wish they were."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Fantastic." He nodded to Satine. "The Duchess is hurt as well. We had a...slightly uncontrolled landing."

"So you fell."

"In a manner of speaking...yes."

Qui-Gon frowned down at the cut in Satine's side. "It looks as though you'll need a few stitches, Duchess, but then you should be back to fighting fit."

Satine shook her head, still not looking at Obi-Wan. "I never wanted to fight."

The pain in her voice was palpable-so much so that Obi-Wan felt a lump beginning to form in his throat. Whatever had driven Satine to pacifism, to the point she loathed even self-defense, must have been horrendous. Unspeakably so.

"We should get going," Qui-Gon said. If he'd noticed the tension between Obi-Wan and Satine, he wasn't letting on to his awareness. "Despite what padawan Kenobi may think, nights on Draboon are even worse than the rain."

"I'm looking forward to leaving this place," she said, and touched the place where her stun pistol was hidden within her robes. "It's not something I wish to remember."


	6. Chapter 6

The walk back to their old campsite was agonizing for Obi-Wan-for more reasons than just the pain in his leg.

He could tell that their encounter with the venomites had sparked a memory in Satine, taking her to a place she had no desire to revisit. But what that place was, he had no idea. He could only imagine what kind of horror she had seen on her war-torn world.

Throughout their eerily silent walk home, Obi-Wan desperately wanted to ask her about what had happened-or, at the very least, wanted to comfort her. He'd seen his fair share of traumatizing sights in his days as a padawan, and the one thing he had wanted most but never received was someone to come alongside him and offer comfort. Qui-Gon had tried-but there was something different in the way Jedi comforted each other. There was always a detachment there, something standing between them.

He hoped there wasn't anything standing between he and Satine.

When they finally made it back to the campsite, Obi-Wan gently grabbed Qui-Gon's arm, stopping the older man. "Wait."

Qui-Gon turned to regard him, puzzled. "What is it, my young padawan?"

"I need a moment alone with the Duchess."

Qui-Gon's expression was infuriatingly unreadable. "Her wound first needs tending to."

"Then let me do it, Master. Please. I just need this one moment and I won't ask again. I promise."

Qui-Gon's expression was artfully neutral, but Obi-Wan couldn't deny the hint of guardedness in his eyes. Was he wary of what might happen-what was happening-between his padawan and the Duchess? Though his master was fond of breaking most of the Order's rules, the one rule he consistently upheld was the Jedi's prohibition of attachment-though why he insisted on keeping this particular rule, Obi-Wan wasn't certain. It wouldn't be until he was older, when Qui-Gon was gone and Obi-Wan had a padawan of his own, that he would understand that his master didn't uphold this rule for the sake of the Order, but rather for the sake of protecting those he loved.

After a moment that seemed like an eternity, Qui-Gon finally nodded. "Alright. I'll be keeping first watch for the next hour." He started toward the edge of the campsite, clapping Obi-Wan over the shoulder in passing. "May the Force be with you."

"And with you," Obi-Wan responded automatically, though he thought it was strange for this context.

Grateful to be alone, Obi-Wan went in search of Satine. Thankfully, he didn't have to search long; she was perched on the edge of a small rock a few meters away, staring listlessly at the dying embers of their campfire. As he grew closer, he could see that she had taken off her outer robe and had elected to wear only the sleeveless shirt and leggings she wore beneath. He reflected, somewhat grimly, that her other clothing was probably too blood-soaked to be wearable at the moment.

She glanced up at him, then immediately looked away. "I don't feel like talking at the moment."

"I'm not here to talk." He tapped the tiny medkit in his hands. "I'm here to tend to your wound."

"I can tend to it myself."

"Let me help you." He knelt on the ground beside her, placing a hand over hers. "You helped me by the river; it's only right that I return the favor."

Her head turned to regard him. He could see that she was weighing something-but what, he couldn't be sure. Her gaze was just as unreadable as Qui-Gon's expression had been, just a few moments before.

"Fine," she said at last, a begrudging note in her voice. "But don't try to turn this into a lecture."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"Because I can tell you still want to justify yourself for what you said after we killed the venomites."

He sighed. "I would take it back if I could. I didn't realize how much you were hurting."

She stared at the dying campfire, her eyes unfocused. "It wasn't because of what you said."

Tentatively, as if he were trying to touch a frightened animal, he reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I know."

She gazed at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, but said nothing.

"And you were right," he continued, opening up the small medkit and setting it on the ground. "I don't understand. And I never will. Each being's pain contains a bit of their spirit-and the spirit is as unique to an individual as anything you will find in this galaxy."

She still said nothing. He didn't expect her to. She didn't owe him a response any more than she owed him her heart; it was hers to give, to whomever she pleased.

"And although I will never understand, I know my arrogance hasn't helped. I know can sometimes act as though I know better than you." As he picked out a bottle of a bacta spray and suture sealant, he smiled ruefully. "Qui-Gon always said it was one of my biggest flaws, and it's something I've tried hard to conquer over my years as a padawan. But my arrogance still shows through from time-to-time, and it did today. I cared more about being right today than I did about what might be causing you so much pain, and for that I am sorry."

He went on, lifting her shirt from her wound. "I did mean what I said, though-what I said about wanting to understand you better, I mean. I want to know you more-what makes you laugh, what you love." He gazed up at her. "What causes you pain. And think I will know those things, in time. But I'm willing to wait until you're ready."

He gently reached out and touched the area of skin around the wound, making certain it wasn't warm with infection. The skin was soft and warm, but not egregiously so. She would most likely heal without much complication-though he surmised that she may have a permanent scar.

"This next part may sting a bit," he confessed.

She winced as he sprayed the bacta into the open wound, but she was otherwise stoic.

"There," he said. "That part's done." He handed her the bottom hem of her shirt. "Will you hold this up while I apply the suture sealant?"

Wordlessly, she took the hem of the shirt and held it in place while he gently pulled the two sides of her cut together, like two lovers sharing a kiss. Setting aside the bacta spray, he quickly sprayed on a layer of suture sealant. Then, satisfied that the sealant was dry, he sat back and touched her arm. "I'm done now."

"Thank you," she said quietly, still staring straight ahead.

"It was the least I could do," he replied, gathering his supplies back into the medkit. "I was the one who dropped you, after all."

She set a hand over his, stopping him. "That's not what I meant."

He looked down at her hand. "Then what…?"

Her hand folded around his, and this time she was looking at him. "Thank you for wanting to understand."

He tried his best to smile-and failed miserably.

Her gaze turned misty. "You're the only one who's tried to understand what happened to my people."

He touched a finger to the corner of her eye, as if to catch any of the tears that might fall from it. "You don't have to tell me now. I'll wait."

"No, no." Her hand covered his, holding it to her face like a child clinging to her mother. "If I'm going to remember this, I want you with me."

So he sat there and listened-listened as she detailed the horrors that her people had committed against one another. The brutality of it, the gruesomeness, was enough to take a person's breath away, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst was when Satine detailed the last time she had been on Mandalore, before her father had shipped her away to Coruscant.

"There were hundreds of them," she whispered, as if she didn't have the strength to speak any louder. "Hundreds of bodies, simply strewn about the ground like refuse. And all of them-man, woman, child, infant-had burned to death. Had been _set on fire_, while they were still alive, by other Mandalorians. By those they considered to be their own people." Her voice pitched a little louder, taking on a bitter tone. "And for what? The only reason I see for their fighting was a hunger for power. No Mandalorian clan wanted to yield to another's rule, and so they fought each other to the death for the right to reign."

All Obi-Wan could ask was, "How many?"

The anger in her voice was naked and raw. "Half. _Half _of my people were lost to the last Clan War. And I know more will perish if the fighting continues." She shook her head. "I swore if this is what war does to people, makes them killer their own kind because of their lust for power, then war is intolerable-an affront to life itself."

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped to the ground. How many conflicts had he participated in, and how many had left behind indescribable carnage? He always told himself that he was fighting for peace, for justice, or whatever abstract goal he happened to hold-but what he was fighting for, really? For the freedom and liberty of all beings, or for the ambitions of a few? The thought chilled him, despite the tepid night air.

There would be a time, later in his life, that he would realize that his entire life's work was a sham, a waste. He had been fighting not only for nothing, but for the wrong thing. The wrong person, to be exact: All of the death and chaos that would overtake the latter years of his life would be in the name of one man.

One horrifically evil man.

But that truth was far from his grasp at the moment. He was too distracted by the weight of Satine's words-what they meant for her, yes, but also what they meant for him. What did it mean to be a keeper of the peace, to uphold the sanctity of life, when he so readily took life with a sweep of his lightsaber? It wasn't an easy question, and he would still be puzzling over it at the end of his life.

"I never thought I would wield a weapon," Satine went on, a single tear escaping from the corner of her eye. "I never thought I would see more death. And yet those horrible insects were dying just like my people-burnt and dismembered. It...it brought me back to that moment, as if I'd never truly moved past it."

Gently, Obi-Wan wiped away her tears with the back of his hand. "How old were you then?"

"Twelve," she said, voice scarcely above a whisper.

And something broke inside her then, just as something had broken inside Obi-Wan while they were at the river. Her tears, which she had mostly held at bay up until this point, flowed freely, streaming down her face like rain on glass. She began to sob faintly, a sound that reminded Obi-Wan more of a wounded animal than of this smart and brave and beautiful woman, and he knew that he couldn't simply sit by.

His own heart breaking, filling him with a pain he had never thought possible, he wrapped his arms about her-and let her cry and sob and scream into his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Once Satine finally drifted off to sleep, Obi-Wan reluctantly extricated himself from their embrace. He'd made a promise to Qui-Gon: One hour. And it was a promise he intended to keep.

He found Qui-Gon just where he had said he would be: Standing watch at the far edge of their campsite. As always, his master's demeanor was serene, as calm and unperturbed as the still surface of a pond. There wasn't even a hint of disapproval about him when he turned to regard Obi-Wan, perhaps an indication that he wasn't worrying over what might have transpired between his padawan and the Duchess in their hour alone. Or perhaps he was simply good at disguising his worry. Obi-Wan couldn't tell; although he had known his master for over a decade, Qui-Gon Jinn could still be incomprehensible.

"You're early," his master remarked lightly.

"By a few minutes," Obi-Wan pointed out. He raised an eyebrow. "Were you expecting me to not keep my word?"

"I was not expecting you to deliberately break your word," Qui-Gon explained with a faint smile. "I expected you to...lose track of time."

Obi-Wan fought to keep his expression neutral. "Why do you say that?"

"Padawan," his master said gently, "I am not blind-though for your sake I have tried to be."

Obi-Wan froze. It wasn't that he was surprised; he had suspected that his master might know, given how well the older man knew him. It was more that the consequences of Qui-Gon's knowledge were dawning on him just now, like a wave crashing upon what had once been a peaceful shore.

"You're not in trouble, padawan," his master explained. "Neither am I here to tell you what to do with your life. You're a man now, Obi-Wan; you are old enough to make your own decisions and take responsibility for the consequences."

Relaxing somewhat, Obi-Wan regarded his master. "Then why bring it up, if not to lecture me?"

Another faint smile. "Perhaps I sensed you were ready to discuss it."

"I doubt that," Obi-Wan said, a faint edge in his voice.

"Indeed?" His master studied him, his hazel eyes seeming to peer within Obi-Wan's very soul. "I sensed a great deal of pain within you since your ordeal with the venomites. Something has been weighing heavily on you."

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan drew in a breath. He was debating what he should disclose to Qui-Gon, and which parts he should keep between he and Satine. Some of the things she'd told him-about not only her people's suffering, but her own personal anguish-were too private, too intimate to share.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. "The pain was not my own. I…" He looked away, struggling to find the words. "I knew the Duchess was in pain, and knowing that hurt me, as if the pain were my own."

"To love another being is to carry their pain and make it your own." A quiet sadness welled within Qui-Gon's gentle gaze. "You are not the first Jedi to discover this, nor will you be the last."

Obi-Wan stared at his master. "Did you ever-"

"Yes," his master replied quietly. "The state of being a Jedi does not make one impervious to love. In fact, I would say that Jedi are encouraged to love-to give ourselves unconditionally for those we serve. The difference between us and the love shared by all the other beings in the galaxy is that a Jedi should be able to let go of that love when he or she recognizes that it is the time to do so."

"So you're saying...what, precisely? That we may love as long as there is no need to let go?"

"There are times in which we must allow ourselves to love," his master conceded, "when we must hold on to those who are most precious to us. But there also comes a time when our love for a single person can stand between us and our love for the people of the galaxy. It is a hard thing to balance the good of many against the good of your beloved. Most Jedi find it impossible. In the end, something will have to give; you will either give up your love, or you will give up your commitment to serving the galaxy. To being a Jedi."

Obi-Wan looked away. "You want me to give her up."

"I didn't say that."

The edge returned to Obi-Wan tone, sharper this time. "So say what it is that you're getting at."

"I mean to say that I can't make any decisions for you. You alone know when you must choose-as well as what you _should_ choose." He laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I've already said it, Obi-Wan: You're a man. I don't care if you choose to be with the Duchess for the duration of this mission, or even for the rest of your life. Neither decision-either to remain with the Duchess, or to remain with the Jedi-is wrong in and of itself. It is the moment that makes it wrong: Choosing the Jedi can be just as problematic as choosing love if it is done for selfish reasons." Qui-Gon's gaze became unfocused for just a moment, as if he were lost in the past. "But sometimes even the most altruistic choices can have disastrous consequences."

Obi-Wan fell silent. He had always known he would have to choose; that knowledge had been with him as long as he had been with Satine, haunting him like an apparition caught between this world and the next. Until now, though, that knowledge had been distant, far off. It applied to others, yes-but not himself. He recognized now that he had, perhaps unconsciously, decided that the rules should be somehow different for he and Satine, because _they_ were different. They had something other beings didn't have.

But were they really that special? With the revelation that Qui-Gon had also known love came the understanding that what he was feeling was not unique. It had happened to others before-and it would certainly happen again. He was just the latest of a long line of Jedi with a foot in two worlds, the world of the Jedi and the life he would build with his love. And there was no reason to believe he would be able to find balance between those worlds, to succeed where they had failed.

So where did that leave him? He didn't know. For once in his life, he was aching for someone, anyone, to tell him what he ought to do, to force him to make a choice.

Obi-Wan looked back to Qui-Gon. "How will I know when to choose?"

"I have faith that you will know when it is time to choose," his master replied gently. "And I have faith that you will make the right decision-whatever that may be. Only know this: Our lives are filled with more choices than there are stars lighting the night sky, most of which can be reversed. But there are some choices that can never be undone."

With that, Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan to his thoughts.

The first time Obi-Wan Kenobi had set foot on Mandalore, he had wanted nothing more than to leave it. The planet itself was bad enough, ruined as it was from generations of pointless wars, but what was worse was the reason why he was there. He hated getting involved in politics; he felt that it was no place for Jedi, especially if they were to remain true to the Code over all else. Qui-Gon, he was sure, felt the same. He had always expressed a certain disdain for the Order's slavish devotion to politicians, and there was no doubt in Obi-Wan's mind that his master loathed the idea of taking a stance in the Mandalorian Clan Wars. Taking sides, even with a leader friendly to the Jedi, could prevent a Jedi from following the will of the Force. From seeing their true path.

Now, though, Obi-Wan wasn't certain where his path might lead.

He wasn't even sure he was on the right path.

Pulling his cloak tighter against him, Obi-Wan watched the Drabooni sun climb over the horizon, casting the rocky landscape in a warm orange glow. Although his watch should have ended hours ago, Obi-Wan had elected to remain at his post, alone save for the sound of insects crooning in the night. After all, how could he have slept? The questions whirling about in his mind were not going to settle down easily, especially if he continued to run from them.

He chose to confront them, head on.

He had been weighing what Qui-Gon had told him, about holding on and letting go. He knew now that he had the ability to hold onto something; he had learned that while learning to care for Satine. But letting go? That was an alien concept to him. He was no stranger, of course, to remaining unattached, to allowing things to pass out of his life. But that wasn't quite the same as letting go. To let go, you had to have taken hold of something, not let it slip through your fingers as soon as it came close.

And what did he need to let go? Qui-Gon had assured him that when the moment came, he would know. Obi-Wan, however, had his doubts. How could he possibly choose between two good things-between the Jedi, who had been his life, and Satine, who had become his life? There was no simple answer, and Obi-Wan didn't particularly feel that he wanted any answers. He would prefer to spend the rest of his life not knowing, living somewhere in the ambiguity between two decisions.

That was his life right now.

He was still a Jedi, in every sense of the word. But he also truly, deeply, cared for Satine. He cared enough, in fact, that there was a part of him that wanted to run away with her right now, to leave everything behind and forge their own path. He was even comfortable, he realized with a sense of shock, that he was willing to leave the Order behind, if things came to that.

But could he choose to do that of his own accord? As Qui-Gon had said, some decisions could never be reversed. Choose to walk away from the Order, and one could never walk back.

Staring out at the fast-approaching morning, Obi-Wan wondered if he could do that: Accept a life without the Jedi. They were the closest thing he had to family-and although he and Satine might begin their own family, together, would he ever look back in regret? Would he spend the rest of his life wondering what he could have been, the friends he might have had, if he had remained a Jedi?

"Don't tell me you've finally found something to like about Draboon."

Blinking, Obi-Wan wrested his gaze from the horizon and turned to see Satine approaching. Gone were the bloodied tunic and trousers from the night before; now she wore a pair of dark synthskin pants and a simple blue blouse belted at the waist. He noted, as he drew closer, that this outfit was much more flattering to her form than what he was accustomed to her wearing, and he couldn't help but let his gaze linger over her as she came closer.

"Qui-Gon said you would be here," she said, by way of explanation. She made a show of looking him up and down. "You look as though you're in serious need of some rest-and perhaps a bath."

With an effort, he stopped appraising her body and met her gaze. "And you're looking even more beautiful than ever."

"And as for your attempts at changing the subject, I would say that was among your least subtle."

"I know." He stared out at the horizon, which was now soft with the light of the morning sun. "I didn't feel like sleeping."

"I would have come out here if I knew you'd be up all night," she said. "To keep you company."

He continued to stare straight ahead. "I know," he said again.

"Then why…?"

"I didn't wake you because I knew you needed sleep," he explained. When she started to protest, he added, "I thought it would be the best way for you to forget about...what happened to your people"

"Oh, Obi-Wan." She suddenly sounded tired, as if she really had spent the night on watch with him. "I can't forget, regardless of how much I want to. And besides, I don't think I should."

"Why not?"

"Because remembering what happened to my people, as awful as it was, serves as a reminder of what happens when leaders think only of themselves, of their own wants and desires. That is not the way that Mandalore should be led-and it is not the kind of leader I wish to be for her."

"Mandalore doesn't deserve you," he said, then added quietly, "I don't deserve you, either."

Satine's warm palm pressed to his cheek, turned his face toward her. Her gaze was soft, full of an emotion he couldn't quite identify. Was it sadness, melancholy? Or was it much deeper than that? "That couldn't be further from the truth."

He searched her gaze. "And what is the truth?"

"The truth is," she replied, a smile beginning to crinkle the corner of her eyes, "you still owe me a kiss."

He smiled back. "I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"My dear Obi-Wan, trust me when I say that a moment like that is never easily forgotten."

And then she was drawing him closer, pulling his face gently to hers. He hesitated briefly, Qui-Gon's words still weighing heavily on him, but he decided they weren't barring him from anything right now. His master had said a time would come for him to choose, and right now, as Satine's lips pressed to his, he knew that now wasn't that time. For now, he would just be with her, savor this moment.

The kiss was soft and long, not passionate or desperate. Yet somehow, they were both breathless when they broke away. His heart pounding wildly, he smiled down at her. "Now that was truly unforgettable."

Returning his smile, Satine threw her arms about his neck, drawing him against her. Following her lead, hands trembling somewhat, he slid his arms about her waist. Then he pressed his lips to hers-gently at first, as if he was afraid of breaking her, then more deeply. When they broke away this time, both of their faces were flushed.

"That was…" She blinked, as if all words had suddenly escaped her.

He smiled shyly down at her. "I know."

She sighed, resting her head against his chest. "I'm glad we could share that."

He stroked a hand lightly over her hair. "So am I. I'd gladly put up with a few more months of Draboon's drudgery if it meant more moments like this."

She stiffened against him. "I don't think we'll be here much longer, Obi-Wan."

That made him stiffen as well. "What do you mean?"

He felt her sigh into his chest, the puff of warm air doing nothing to settle the feeling of cold dread forming in the pit of his stomach. "After I told you about what happened-what I saw had become of my people-I started thinking. I started thinking how cowardly I've been for hiding from the war, staying here in relative safety and ease while my people suffer."

"You haven't been exactly what most would call safe," he reminded her. "That sniper bolt was surely meant for you, not me."

"Safer than my people," she retorted. "Everyday they live with the possibility of destruction hanging over their heads. Everyday they are forced from their homes, from their families, their lives-and I've done nothing to stop it."

"Satine…" He cupped a hand under chin, gently lifting her head to meet his gaze. "Think about this a moment. You yourself have already said you're unwilling to fight; if you return to the war, don't think you won't be pulled into the conflict. Qui-Gon and I would know. We've been to a dozen worlds like yours, and getting involved-taking a side-ultimately meant fighting in their wars. And I know you what no part in that."

She shook her head, pushing his hand aside. "I'm not taking sides in the war. This war, just like any other, represents a failure to listen. If I'm to restore peace to Mandalore, perhaps I should start with getting them to listen to one another."

He regarded her in silence. There was no questioning the resolve in her voice, in the way she unwaveringly held his gaze. The question was, could that resolve be reasoned with-or better yet, did she _need_ to be reasoned with? If Satine was right, and the Clan Wars represented a breakdown of communication, wouldn't her solution be the best option?

But if she brought the war to an end…

If she brought the war to an end, it would mean he and Qui-Gon would no longer have any need to protect the Duchess. And if they had no need to protect her, they would be summoned back to Coruscant, awaiting to be assigned elsewhere. To be assigned somewhere far, far away from Mandalore-and from Satine.

It was selfish, he knew. Untold thousands-perhaps millions-would die if the war continued. But he couldn't deny that part of him wanted to do anything, even if it meant standing by as Mandalore destroyed herself, to stay here with Satine.

Why? Because it meant he wouldn't have to choose. He could go on being a Jedi, and still have her in his life.

But even as he thought it, he knew that was not something he truly wanted. If he could keep both-if he could have Satine and still fulfill his calling to be a Jedi-he would only have half of each world. His duty to the Jedi would pull him away from her, from whatever family they might have, and he knew he would grow to resent the Jedi because of it. As Qui-Gon had said, balancing a life with the Order against the good of your beloved was nearly impossible for a Jedi.

And he sensed that right now, he would have to choose. He would have to decide whether he wanted to live in both worlds indefinitely, or propel himself closer to the day when he'd finally have to choose between the two. His fate depended upon it-and he sensed that so, too, did the fates of those who called Mandalore home.

"Wherever you go," he said softly, "I won't be far behind."


	8. Chapter 8

KROWNEST, SIX MONTHS LATER

Duchess Satine Kryze drew in a deep breath, bracing herself.

_Peace exists in the minds of the faithful._

Or at least that was what Obi-Wan had told her. Had he simply been trying to offer comfort, or had he truly believed it? Knowing he wasn't the type to offer empty words, Satine hoped for the latter-because even if she didn't believe it herself, she believed in him.

Standing at the ship's viewport, watching the snowy landscape of Krownest draw closer, Satine wished she could believe in herself as much she believed in the young Jedi. Although her attempts at peace hadn't been unsuccessful-so far, two of the Mandalorian Clans had agreed to lay down their arms-she had her doubts about this particular endeavor. Krownest, with its inhospitable icy terrain, was home to the most inhospitable of the Mandalorian Clans: Clan Wren and Clan Vizla. Osa Wren, head of the aforementioned Clan Wren, had a reputation for being especially ill-disposed; Satine had heard rumors that Mandalorians who ventured onto Clan Wren territory were unlikely to be seen again. The only reason their ship hadn't been shot down as soon as it entered the range of the Clan's anti-aircraft gunnery was more a testament to Osa's begrudging respect for Satine's father than it was a gesture of goodwill.

"You seem a bit on edge."

Her heart fluttered slightly as she turned to see Obi-Wan approaching, wearing one of those disarming smiles she had come to adore over the past nine months. Despite his smile, however, she couldn't deny that there was a grimness about him, a certain darkness in his eyes. He, too, was likely to have doubts about their encounter with Osa, though she could tell he was trying to hide his misgivings from her.

She returned his smile, although hers was much weaker than his. "That would be the understatement of the year."

He came to stand next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. "Understatements are my speciality."

"Well, let's hope diplomacy is _my_ speciality today." She made a face. "Or at the very least, let's hope that betrayal is not Osa's speciality."

"If it was, she would have already shot us down. She's nothing to gain from drawing this out-unless she's planning to use as a bargaining chip with the Republic. But even then, I doubt Osa is interested in attracting the censure of the Republic-especially if that also means the censure of the Jedi."

"My people have a particular fondness for starting wars with Jedi," she pointed out.

"Not when their forces are stretched so thin. These Clan leaders may be fanatical, but they're not stupid. They understand that an attack from the Jedi would mean the Clans would have to fight together as equals-and that is the farthest thing from what they want." A playful note entered his voice as he added, "And besides, _you_ have a particular fondness for a Jedi who won't let that happen."

Despite the gravity of the situation into which they were both about to set foot, Satine couldn't help but smile to herself. Obi-Wan always knew how to make her feel better, how to comfort her. And she, perhaps, did the same for him, albeit in a different way. For her, comfort was being built back up, being strengthened-but for him, comfort meant allowing his barriers to fall so someone else could be the stronger one, at least for the moment.

Perhaps one of the things Satine enjoyed most about their relationship was that she had managed to peel away his Jedi mask and see the man underneath.

"Preparing to dock!"

The voice was Qui-Gon's, issuing forth from the pilot's cockpit. At those words, Satine could sense an immediate shift in Obi-Wan. Gone was the charming young man with the boyish smile, the one who often held her as she fell asleep; he now had the steely, almost frigid air of a warrior preparing for battle, his gaze set in stony determination.

Satine had to look away. That was the most unnerving part about having feelings for a Jedi; one moment, he could make your heart flutter at just the sound of his voice, and the next, he could become someone who appeared to have no feelings at all. It was almost like being in love with a fire-one moment it gave warmth, and the next it burned through anything in its path.

Obi-Wan touched a hand to the small of her back. "We'd best be going, Duchess."

Satine sighed. The hand felt warm and reassuring and undeniably human. He was still in there, somewhere behind all of the warrior's resolve-but she wondered if a man who could shirk emotion so readily would ever truly be satisfied with the life of a civilian. As her late father had been found of saying, a man can walk away from battle but the battle may never walk away from him.

While their ship settled upon the snowy landing field, Satine had never more desperately wished for her father to be wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

Osa Wren was every bit as formidable as the rumors claimed-perhaps even more so. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Obi-Wan, and had the broad frame of a fighter. Although her helmet bore the soft features of a fledgling bird, the face underneath is was anything but; her features were stern and severe, with high cheek bones, a sharp nose, and piercing black eyes. Perched on her hips-which were one of the few feminizing things about her-were blaster holsters, and below that Satine could see that the woman carried an array of knives. Satine wasn't certain what unnerved her more-the fact that the woman could blast through her at any moment, or that she could fill them with a dozen or so throwing knives before they had time to react.

Well, before _she_ had time to react. Obi-Wan, despite his outwardly dispassionate demeanor, looked ready to leap into action, as if he expected an attack at any moment. And perhaps he was. He knew as well as she how unpredictable a Mandalorian could be in battle, that at any moment Osa or the handful of warriors gathered about her could lash out, unleashing an attack even a trained Jedi might have difficulty surviving.

As she, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon strode came to stand before Osa, the woman appraised them with a gaze that was far colder than the snow and ice beneath their feet. "I was wondering when our paths would finally cross, Duchess Kryze. Your father always warned we might one day be adversaries."

"My father was wrong," Satine answered calmly. "I come here-not as an adversary, but to extend my hand to you in peace."

Osa's eyes narrowed to piercing black slits. "Anyone who comes to interfere in our war is an adversary in the eyes of Clan Wren. The life debt I owe your late father is the only reason why you still draw breath."

"You owed my father a life debt?"

"Your father saved my husband from a mine collapse on Concordia. When my husband died and his soul joined the Manda, that debt was passed on to me. I intend to honor that debt until it is paid in full."

Satine inclined her head. "You are an honorable woman, Lady Wren."

"And you are not," Osa said flatly. Her steely gaze settled upon Obi-Wan and his master. "To accept the protection of the Jedi is the mark of a coward. A true Mandalorian would sooner die than owe her life to one of those honorless sorcerers."

"That was the Mandalore of the past. You know as well as I do that the Jedi have not fought against us for over a millenia, and neither have we fought against them. Don't you think it perhaps time to put the past behind us?"

"I think you ignore our traditions at your own peril, Duchess Kryze. Our traditions are how we have survived."

"I understand the importance of honoring our traditions, Lady Wren, but I would argue that self-annihilation is not among those traditions."

Osa's eyes narrowed once more, as if she were a Loth cat sizing up her prey. Satine knew that Osa did not expect much from her personally; her disdain for Satine's pacifism had already made it clear that she had already dismissed her as a threat. But she knew that the woman most likely felt threatened by the Jedi, for more reasons than the fact that they were once enemies of Mandalore. Most Mandalorians could hold their own against a Jedi, but even so, Satine's people were unnerved by the legend surrounding the Jedi's seemingly otherworldly powers.

"You are well-spoken," Osa said, her features softening somewhat. "In that regard you are like your father; he always spoke well for his Clan. But I will not give you audience in my village with both Jedi at your side."

Satine couldn't see Obi-Wan at the moment, but because she knew him so well, she guessed that he must be fighting hard to disguise his apprehension. She knew that he trusted her, thought she was capable of handling herself. But she also knew that there was still a small part of him that had trouble quashing the urge to protect her-especially in a place like this.

After a moment's hesitation, Satine inclined her head respectfully. "As you wish, Lady Wren. I shall be escorted only by Padawan Kenobi to your village."

"Without his Jedi sword," Osa added with a pointed look.

Satine turned and looked back at Obi-Wan, whose face was as unreadable as the cloudless sky overhead. She couldn't tell if he was apprehensive about leaving behind his weapon, or if he sensed something she didn't-some unseen yet imminent dangert, just as he had before the sniper blast that almost claimed his life. But whatever it was, she couldn't risk him offending Osa. She laid a hand gently on his arm, giving it a small but reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, Obi-Wan. Do as she says."

He searched her eyes for a moment, face still infuriatingly unreadable. Then he reached into his cloak and plucked his lightsaber off his belt, setting it on the ground before him. Osa nodded to one of the warriors beside her, who promptly retrieved the weapon and handed it to Osa.

Osa nodded to Satine in approval. "I am glad you are willing to honor our wishes. Perhaps we may come to some agreement tomorrow-but for this evening, we ask that you allow me to sup and lodge you in my home. It is tradition for visiting strangers to be treated as such-and even though you hold few of our traditions yourself, we are still honor-bound to uphold our ways."

"We are humbled by your hospitality, Lady Wren," Satine said, and meant it. She understood that from this woman's point of view, she and Obi-Wan were undeserving of her kindness-and yet here she offered it to them, albeit begrudgingly. "You have our sincere thanks for offering us your home."

"I only hope," Osa intoned, "that I do not regret it."

And with that, Osa Wren abruptly turned, and she and Obi-Wan had no choice but to follow her toward whatever awaited them in the village.


	10. Chapter 10

To the surprise of neither she nor Obi-Wan, the villagers were far from welcoming. They made no direct threats toward them; most likely, Osa had ordered them not to, perhaps only in the interest of not raising the ire of what was left of Clan Kryze. However, they still made it clear that she and Obi-Wan were the last two beings they wanted in their village. Standing outside their homes, creating an outline on either side of the village's central street, they glowered venomously at the pair, their eyes speaking of all the things they would do to she and the Jedi if they could. Even the children, looking oddly militant in their short crew cuts and child-sized armor, looked as though they wanted to run them out of town.

Obi-Wan shot her a side-long glance. "This hasn't been our day for warm welcomes."

She shook her head. "No-but it is better than the alternative."

His expression turned grim. "On that matter, you'll have no argument from me."

They followed Osa in tense silence for several more minutes before finally coming upon a large wooden parallelogram situated in the middle of the village. From the nails she could see poking out from the wooden panels, Satine guessed that this structure had been built by human, not droid, hands. Indeed, there was a natural air about this building, as if the builders were trying to evoke a sense of being one with the land. That sense only grew as they entered into the structure behind Osa, and were greeted with a home interior with only sparse furnishing and decorations, all made either from wood or from the remains of an animal.

"Ursa!" Osa called, and a heartbeat later a girl with the same stony features as Osa emerged from one of the rooms.

The girl stood straight, as if standing at attention for a commanding officer. "You called, Mother?"

Osa gestured toward she and Obi-Wan. "Ursa, I'd like you to see our guests to their room. Then I will be needing your help in the kitchen. It is not often that we feed four mouths rather than two."

Ursa nodded stiffly. "Of course, Mother." Her flinty gaze, which was only a few shades softer than that of her mother, settled on Satine. "Follow me."

After exchanging a glance, she and Obi-Wan followed the girl down a short hallway carpeted with animal hide rugs. Although Satine was a stranger to this world and their people, the sight was oddly comforting. It was not unlike the cottage she and her family had shared on Kalevala; the only difference was that their cottage had been much sparser, and made of metal rather than wood, as wood was an exceptionally rare commodity on the desert world of Kalevala.

Satine wondered, for a moment, if the rest of her family was still hiding in safety-or if they had shared a fate similar to that of her father. It had been years since she had seen, or heard from, any of them. The last she knew, her mother and sisters had hidden themselves away on an undisclosed world, waiting for the war to die down before returning to Kalevala.

That had been over a decade ago.

"Here's where my mother wishes to lodge you," Ursa said, breaking Satine from her recollections. "We've only one room for the two of you. It was my brother's before he went to war."

Satine felt a lump forming in her throat. "And where is your brother now?"

Ursa's brows drew together in a stoic frown. "He died for the Clan."

Although her tone was matter-of-fact, there was no denying the pain in the girl's eyes. Satine could empathize; she had already lost one person to the war, and she may have lost three more. By the time this war ended, Satine wondered if her people would have anything left to lose, or if they would be bled dry long before the fighting concluded.

"I'm sorry," Satine said, her voice somewhat raspy with emotion.

Ursa looked away. "I do not require your sympathy. He died for the good of the Clan; mother says there is no greater good than to die for your people."

"There is a greater good," Satine answered softly. "To live for your people."

Ursa's frown deepened.

Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan gave the girl a cordial nod. "Thank you for showing us to our room, Ursa. We are truly indebted to you and your family."

Ursa studied him for a few moments, and then she returned the nod. "Yes, you are. And don't you forget it."

As Ursa brushed past them, presumably headed toward the kitchen, Obi-Wan gave Satine a questioning look. "Is everything all right? You seem...rattled."

Satine sighed. "I hate seeing what this war has done to my people."

That was only partly true. Yes, it was difficult to hear about what the war had done to a family such as Ursa's; losing both a father and brother to war was an unspeakable travesty. But the worst part of the war was what it had done to Satine personally, the damage it had etched into her very soul. She had learned to live with the brokenness, had learned to cope with it as one might cope with the aftermath of an amputation, but that didn't mean that the pain didn't still cut deep.

Although the look on his face suggested that he knew something more was going on, Obi-Wan didn't press her for more. Perhaps he trusted that she would open up later, in her own time. Or perhaps he wondered if she might ever open up-and to be honest, Satine wasn't sure she ever would. As close as she was to Obi-Wan, there were some things she didn't want him knowing, if only for the sake of not burdening him. Hearing about what had happened to her people, when their smoking carcasses had been strewn across Mandalore, had pained him enough as it was; she didn't need to distract him further by disclosing her family's ambiguous fate.

Satine wondered, for a dangerous moment, if that was perhaps what she was: A distraction. Something to keep him from focusing on his true path. He most likely didn't see things that way; as far she could tell, Obi-Wan's feelings for her were as strong as her feelings were for him. But that, while true, did not quiet the tiny doubt forming in the back of her mind, the thought that the simple act of loving him had the power to keep him from doing something great.

She felt Obi-Wan's hand at the small of her back. "Let's go inside."

Blinking herself out of her ruminations, Satine allowed Obi-Wan to gently prod her into the room, grateful for the distraction. As expected, their lodgings were as sparse as the rest of the house, with the Wampa rug sprawled across the dirt floor being the only attempt at decoration. What was not expected, however, was the fact that the room had only one bed-and a small one at that.

Obi-Wan rubbed at the back of his neck, face showing a faint flush. "Well, I suppose I'll be spending the night with the eWampa."

"You don't want to share a bed with me?"

"Well...yes, of course I do. It's only…"

She raised an eyebrow. "Only what?"

Now his flush was so deep, it was undeniable. "Only, it seems, ah...a tad too _premature_, don't you think?"

"'_Premature_' in what way, precisely?"

"I didn't want to do...I mean I didn't want to assume...that we were at that point in our..." He gestured vaguely. "Well, whatever _this_ is. Whatever it is we have between us."

"You've held me as I've fallen asleep," she pointed out. "How does that differ from sharing a bed?"

His eyes drifted toward his boots. "I was...I didn't want things to change between us. For things to be different because we had...ah…" He trailed off, his face turning an even brighter shade of red.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You thought we were going to have sex?"

He looked up at her, eyes wide. "No, no. Not that. Not exactly. I just thought if we shared a bed, it would mean you were expecting things to...escalate."

She stared at him, aggravated and charmed at the same time. The fact that he had assumed she would readily sleep with him in a stranger's house-a potentially _dangerous_ stranger's house, at that-was insulting, enough so that she found it difficult not to seeth. On the other hand, she found it both endearing and alluring that his simple logic had arrived at that conclusion. His innocence, revealed by the fact that he presumed _let's share a bed_ was equivalent to _let's have sex_, was charming. Perhaps even a little bit attractive. And the fact that he had even entertained the idea that he might sleep with her...well, that was even more attractive. It signaled his interest in her, however reticent that interest might be.

She found herself smiling at him. "Obi, trust me when I say that you won't have to worry about things '_escalating'_ tonight. I doubt our hostess would take kindly to that."

He smiled back at her, seeming relieved. "No, I don't think she would, either. I can't think of anything that would displease her more." His smile widened. "And perhaps this is a tad off-subject, but was that a nickname I just heard?"

"You mean 'Obi'? I think it fits you nicely. It captures how adorable you can be at times."

His smile took on a sly edge. "You think I'm adorable now?"

"Yes. Well. This will be the last moment I think you're adorable if you get a big head over it."

His eyes sparkled with a playful glint. "Then the burden is on me to maintain my humility."

Almost forgetting-or perhaps not caring-where she was, Satine reached out to touch his face, letting her fingers trace along his jawline. This was the Obi-Wan that she loved most: Playful, and not taking himself too seriously. It was a far cry from the men she had seen of late. Every man on Mandalore wore the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders, burdened by their belief that it was their duty to bring honor to their Clan. Perhaps Obi-Wan bore a similar burden; she'd seen it in his eyes sometimes, that mixture of fear and guilt she saw only on the face of warriors. But he hid it better than most, or perhaps he was better at bearing the burden.

She hoped beyond hope that she was not part of that burden.

Obi-Wan placed his hand over hers, holding it to his face. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Perhaps it is not," she replied quietly. She touched her other hand to his cheek. "But let's not worry about that now."

As if on some silent cue, their heads began moving together. And just like that moment on Draboon, it felt to her as if she was being drawn toward him, pulled to him by some invisible force. It was almost as if it was destiny for this to happen, for-

"My mother wishes you to sup with her now."

Instinctively, she and Obi-Wan sprang apart. Ursa was standing in the doorway, as stiff as the wooden walls around her. She was gazing directly at both of them, but if she had seen what was about to transpire-and Satine had no doubt that she did-her expression gave no hint of it.

Satine nodded awkwardly. "Thank you. We will be honored to join you."

"Then please," Ursa said, gesturing down the hallway. "Follow me."

Exchanging a sheepish look with Obi-Wan, who was trying to hide the fact that his face was turning red, she followed Ursa down the short hallway. Again, she felt her heart ache for home. The smell of nuna stew, rich and warm as it wafted through the air, brought her back to her childhood. She could recall many a winter's night when she and her family had shared nuna stew, hoping to stave off the icy cold seeping into their tiny cottage.

Osa stood at the far end of a long wooden table, studying them as they approached. "Did you find your room adequate?"

Obi-Wan dipped his head politely. "More than adequate, Lady Wren. We are most appreciative of your hospitality."

Osa snorted. "It's a wonder you Jedi can appreciate hospitality. The legends say your kind spend their time navel-gazing in the wilderness-when you're not waging war against our people, that is."

To his credit, Obi-Wan didn't rise to the bait. "I'm afraid those rumors have been greatly exaggerated, my lady. We appreciate any kindness that comes our way."

"As well you should. You are the first Jedi to set foot on Krownest with your head still attached to your shoulders."

Obi-Wan dipped his head again. "Then we are even more appreciative, Lady Wren."

"It seems you are." Osa gestured to the table, which was set with a collection of simple metal bowls and utensils. "But enough talk. It is time that we ate."

Osa watched them as they chose their seats-seats on the same side of the table. But if Obi-Wan noticed Osa watching, or the hint of disapproval in the woman's eyes, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he politely pulled out a chair for Satine, his fingers brushing her shoulders as he did so.

Osa peered up at them as she ladled steaming stew into their bowls. "I see that the pair of you are close."

"It would behest me to leave the Duchess's side," Obi-Wan said without missing a beat. "As you may know, the Duchess has been the target of insurgents from within the Mandalore system."

Osa frowned. "This is the first time that news has reached my ears."

Satine locked eyes with Osa, evaluating her. "You know nothing of the plot to dethrone me?"

"As I said, this is the first I have heard of such things." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you under the impression that my Clan partook in these actions/"

"Far be it from me to accuse you of wrongdoing, my lady," Obi-Wan said smoothly. "We ourselves have no idea who might be behind this, so we know little more than you."

"A wise response," Osa said flatly. She sipped at her stew, an oddly dainty action for such an intimidating woman. "Assassination is the way of cowards. If Clan Wren wished the Duchess dead, it would be through combat. That is the only honorable way to defeat one's enemy."

Satine took a small sip of her own stew. "Am I your enemy?"

"Perhaps at one time you were not. But now that we are at war, we dare not trust any Clan. Even the head of our House, House Vizla, may be host to our enemies." She looked pointedly at Satine. "If anyone is to blame for this war, it is them. Their hunger for power knows no end. We only joined the fight because we wanted our people to stand alongside the rest of House Vizla a rulers-not bow the knee to them."

"I was not aware of that."

"There are a great many things you aren't privy to, Duchess. This war began when you were my daughter's age." She lowered her eyes. "And I fear it may become my grandchildren's war as well."

Satine tilted her head, regarding her. "You wish for the Clan Wars to end?"

"It may come as a shock to you, Duchess, but you are not the only one who wishes for the killing to end. If I could assure the safety of my Clan without going to war against our people, I would. But unfortunately, the other Clans have forced my hand."

Obi-Wan was also regarding Osa. "What if you could be assured that your Clan would be protected if you laid down your arms?"

Osa's expression turned sour. "And who are you to make such promises, Jedi? I did not see the Jedi lift a hand to help us when our Clan was laid waste in this war. You came here only when there were whispers of a new leader-one wishes to be friends of the Jedi, and strip us of our ways."

"We did not lift a hand," Obi-Wan said, somehow managing to keep his tone neutral, "because your Clan did not reach out to us for help, as Satine's Clan has done. Do you think we would have willingly stood by and allowed your people to wage war against themselves?"

"You suggest that my Clan is responsible for their own fate?"

"Ignorance led to this outcome. You said it yourself: Your Clan only knows the legends of the Jedi. You see us as enemies, a thorn in your side. And perhaps we should have done more so that you no longer saw us that way-so that the ignorance was perpetuated no longer ." He set down his spoon and locked gazes with the head of Clan Wren. "But the reason for what has happened is beyond mattering at this point. There is no re-writing the past. What is done is done, and there is no saving the people already lost to this war. But you stand now in a position that allows you to write a different future."

Satine and Osa both stared at Obi-Wan in silence. Satine knew that Obi-Wan was trained in diplomacy; after all, the role of a Jedi was primarily one of peace-keeper, no matter how easily Obi-Wan could slide into the role of warrior. But she hadn't realized, up until now, how skilled a negotiator he could be. He was as well-spoken as she, with all of her private Coruscanti education, and he was also just as confident. Moreover, he seemed to instinctively know which words to use with this formidable woman, even though he knew little of her ways. If given the opportunity, he might do a great deal of good in the larger galaxy, where there were a thousand worlds just as troubled as her own.

But if he remained with her? She tried not to think of it. She didn't need to bear that particular burden at the moment.

Osa sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. "You speak well for your people, young Jedi. Tell me, though: What position am I in that might allow my people a better future-one in which we still live free, as warriors like our fathers and mothers before us?"

"You can make your position on the war known to the other Clans," Satine said, understanding where this was going. "Clan Wren is one of the most feared of the Clans, next to Clan Vizla. So far, Clan Rook and Clan Saxon have chosen to lay down their arms, and Clan Eldar are considering to soon join them. If it was known that Clan Wren also refused to continue the bloodshed, do you think Clan Vizla would risk warfare against the might of the united Clans?"

"You only answer half my question, Duchess," Osa responded flatly. "I wish to live in peace-but I am no pacifist. My Clan must remain warriors. It would be an abomination for Clan Wren to cast aside their armor and abandon the ways of war."

"My Clan embraces pacifism," Satine admitted, "so it seems inevitable that Mandalore herself will follow suit. But I see no reason why Krownest cannot keep her own ways."

Osa lifted an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that each world within the Mandalorian system remains a sovereign province, with its own government. Those who wish to remain warriors may remain with their Clans-but those who wish to join me in ushering in a new way of life are free to come to Mandalore herself. What do you choose?"

"I choose," Osa said, picking up her bowl again, "to think more deeply on this matter. But for now, let us eat. You two will need your strength for what is to come."

Obi-Wan regarded her with a slight frown. "And what is to come?"

"What is to come? No matter what I choose, young Jedi, you've set yourself against Clan Vizla-and do not think they will take such defiance lightly." She nodded toward Satine. "If there is anyone who wishes Duchess Kryze dead, it is them. They have little honor these days, and the use of methods as cowardly as assassination are not beneath them. If they hear of how you have tried to persuade me to withdraw from the war, you can expect that all the weapons of their Clan will be trained upon the head of your Duchess."

As if she had only made a passing remark on the weather, Osa returned to sipping her stew. Somewhat rattled, she and Obi-Wan tried to do the same. The fear that gripped at the pit of her gut was overwhelming, threatening to spread to the rest of her of body and overtake her. Overcome her. But for now, she would show no fear. Though Osa might disagree, Satine Kryze still had her honor, and she would not allow herself to appear weak in front of this woman.

She would wait until she could be alone with Obi-Wan until she showed her true self.


	11. Chapter 11

After the meal was over, Satine and Obi-Wan thanked Osa and returned to their room. Although Satine doubted she would be sleeping this night, it was getting late, and it would be rude to keep Osa and her daughter up. Plus, Obi-Wan seemed tired; these months on the run had worn him down, aged him in a way that belied his boyish features. It wouldn't be much, but a good night's rest-a night where he didn't have to worry over her safety-would do him good.

She owed him that much.

Once they were in the room alone, Obi-Wan shutting the door behind them, Satine let herself ease into the bed. She had no intention of sleeping, but her body was suddenly tired. Too tired to stay on her feet.

"We're so close," she said, staring up at the wooden ceiling above. "If Osa agrees to a cease fire, Clan Vizla might soon follow suit. This war could be over in a matter of months."

Obi-Wan stood leaning against the far wall, gazing at her with his arms folded over his chest. His expression was grim, which wasn't a surprise given their circumstances. But there was also a hint of sadness darkening his bright eyes, the depths of which were almost akin to grief. It was if he was mourning something.

Satine realized, with a pang of sadness in her own heart, what might be troubling him. He wanted this war to end, almost as much as she did. But he also knew as well as she did what the end of the war would mean for the two of them.

But what that it would mean for Obi-Wan, she wasn't entirely sure. The end of the war could mean that his duties as a Jedi would call him elsewhere, pull him away from her. However, there was also the possibility that he might stay-and that terrified her even more than the thought of him leaving. If they parted ways, the sadness in his eyes might linger for a while. The pain might even leave a scar. But if he left the Jedi-if he gave up the one thing he had known his entire life-would the sadness ever leave him? Or would it stay, weighing him down until that, too, pulled them apart?

The thought of forcing him to give up so much, and of possibly tainting the love they had with his resentment, was enough to make her wish she had never fallen for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not loving him, not allowing him to love her, would mean missing out on much: All the tiny stolen moments, when they were free to show each other the depths of their love. It was a tentative love, for certain, a love that was cautious of what might happen if they went too far-but it was love nonetheless. The only question was whether that love was worth the pain it might bring upon him. The wounds it would cause him. After all, she was not in the same position as he: Either way, whether he stayed or left, she would still have her life. Her family. Her duty to Mandalore. But if he left the Jedi-if she asked him to stay with her-she would be about the only thing he had left.

And she didn't know if she would be enough for him.

"That's...good news," Obi-Wan said, staring at the ground. His voice sounded hollow, empty.

"It's what I've been fighting for so long." She drew in a shaky breath. "It's what my father died fighting for. And now I'm in a position to finally realize his dream, and yet..."

Obi-Wan peered up at her. "And what?"

She should tell him what she was feeling. She should tell him her fears, say aloud that she was terrified of being the reason he had to give up the Jedi. But what if the act of simply saying it aloud was what gave life to the idea of leaving the Jedi? What if she, through her own fear and doubt, propelled him toward the very outcome she dreaded?

So, for the first time in their relationship, Satine chose to tell an outright lie.

"It's nothing."

Obi-Wan's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Satine…please. I'm not a fool."

"I know you're not," she said. She rolled onto her side on the bed, facing him. "That's part of why I feel the way I do about you."

His eyes lowered once more. "Just tell me what it is you really want to say."

She knew, then, looking at him, that their remaining time together would be short. That she couldn't have him leaving the Order for her, even if it was what her heart hoped for beyond all else. Instead, she let go of the idea of a future with him, allowed her secret wishes and dreams to slip out of her hands like the ash of Mandalore herself.

What she did not let go of was the present.

"What I want," she said, looking him dead in the eye, "Is for you to be with me."

That made him go silent-silent and still. Then he looked up at her, and for the first time since she'd known him, she could see everything he was feeling written across his face. She could see his hope, his excitement, his desire for her-but she could also see his apprehension, his fear, his grief for what might become of them in the future. She could see how much being with her brought him alive, but in the same moment could see how that love was tearing him apart. How it was killing him.

And then she sensed that he, too, let go of something-but it wasn't her. It wasn't their future, or the Jedi, or anything that had to do with the duties and vows that were driving them apart.

He was letting go of his fear.

Without a sound, Obi-Wan slipped into the bed, facing her. She could still see the apprehension in his eyes, but she realized that this had less to do with his fear of losing control than it did with the fact that this was new territory for him. Just like her, he had never been in this position with anyone, where one action could lead to...well, anything. It was a world apart from the realm of restraint and self-denial in which he had been raised.

Not daring to move, he watched her as she reached for his face, letting her fingers drift across the faint stubble on his jaw. He was still as she ran her hands through his short hair, and scarcely reacted when her hands went to his belt, slipping it quietly off his waist. He only moved when he slid out of his tunic, but even then he was oddly still, like a child transfixed by a sky full of stars.

She ran her fingers across his chest, light as a breeze. Wordlessly, he placed his hand over hers, holding it against his bare chest. He felt smooth, warm, and even the faint swatch of hair on his chest was strangely soft, like the down of a newborn shriek-hawk. In fact, although this was not the first time she had seen him bare-chested, she was taken aback by how soft he seemed. His body was hard, yes, honed from years of Jedi training. But something about him, even with his smattering of scars, seemed so gentle. So tender.

She brushed a hand under his ribs, where the sniper bolt had torn through all those months ago. It seemed so long ago now, that they had shared that time alone on Mandalore. And yet it also seemed as if they were back there, alive with the exuberance that comes with the realization that one is in love.

His hand went over hers, holding it over his scar. He still didn't say anything, but he didn't have. The look in his eyes said it all: He wanted to be with her, too. Perhaps even for the rest of his life, although she knew doing so would cost him-dearly.

"I...I don't know what to do," he murmured, his words carrying with it a double meaning that brought a fresh pain to Satine's heart.

She pressed her palm to his cheek. "What do you want?"

For a while, he made no response, only closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Then he slid his body closer to her, tentative, a little unsure. As he pressed himself against her, his warmth seeping into her, he buried his face into her chest-not in a passionate, desperate way, but in the way a frightened child might seek comfort from his mother.

He didn't do anything more. He didn't say anything, ask for anything. He simply laid there, as still and as at peace as she had ever seen him, while she held him to her.

For this night at least, she would watch over him as he slept.

As Obi-Wan slept, he was vaguely aware of Satine still holding him, of her refusing to let him go. When he occasionally stirred in his sleep, awakened by some distant anxiety or for a myriad of other reasons, he felt her hands stroke his bare back, lulling him back to sleep. It was strange, to be cared for so lovingly, so tenderly. It was almost as if he were not a Jedi at all, and had never seen battles or strife or pain. As if he had never harmed anyone, caused pain in the name of the Republic. In Satine's arms, at the touch of her hands, he could almost believe that he was something much better than what he was-someone far more innocent and pure and with a far greater capacity for good than he had ever thought possible.

After his natural life had ended, and friends he had once thought lost forever stood at his side, he would finally understand the power that love had to make people see the good. He had spent most of his life trying to fight love-to let it go not because he should, but because he ought to. But for that reason, he would also let go of the optimism, the light, the hope that love could bring. Love could blind you, make your path uncertain, but it could also give faith. It could believe in the tiny spark of goodness that dwelled within every being, even when reason argued against it.

Love could let him see the good in himself-and the good in those who lost their way.

That, Obi-Wan would one day realize, was what Qui-Gon meant when he'd said that faith was akin to blindness. It wasn't that love was ignorant of flaws; Obi-Wan had always understood, even in the ignorance of his youth, that love never found pleasure in evil. No, love was willing to see the flaws for what they were, and yet, somehow, believe that no being is the sum of their imperfections. Every being, no matter how evil, how dark, was measured by their capacity to choose the good.

But this was not a lesson Obi-Wan would take heed of soon.

Right now, Obi-Wan awakened with a startle-and realized rather quickly that he was alone.

At first, he thought Satine might have simply slipped out of their room to speak with Lady Wren, who had told them that her decision regarding the cease fire would come in the morning. However, when Obi-Wan dressed and wandered into Osa's small kitchen, Satine was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Osa and her daughter sat alone at the large wooden table, nursing their cups of tea.

"Where is the Duchess?" Obi-Wan asked. To his shame, he couldn't keep his voice from rising in fear. "I can't find her."

Osa examined him over the rim of her cup. "I thought your kind were more astute, Jedi. She left some hours ago."

Obi-Wan blinked. Hours? It seemed like only a few moments ago that he had been in Satine's arms, her fingers tracing over his skin in a ceaseless, soothing motion.

"We spoke this morning," Osa explained, "and when I had told her what I had decided regarding my Clan's place in the war, she asked if there were any available ships in my village. I told her that our pilots would be more than happy to take her anywhere she wished-for a price, of course."

"And what did you decide?"

Osa straightened, chin tilted upward in defiance. "I decided only what was best for my people. I have no mind for the politics of the other Clans, or of this new movement of pacifism I see taking hold. I only wish to see my Clan live-and to live, I know that Mandalore must not fight against herself."

Obi-Wan blinked again. "Then why did she leave?"

"Her leaving was borne not out of defeat, but of victory. She heads now for Sundari, to make known to our people what my Clan has chosen."

Obi-Wan stared at Osa, dumbfounded. Of course he had known that Satine would soon attempt to rally her people-but he was not expecting it to come so soon, or in the manner she had done it. Her leaving him behind, slipping away while he slept, felt like a betrayal, a breach of trust. A bitter part of him even wondered if the night before, when she had so tenderly held him as he slept, had been nothing more than a way to make sure he didn't follow her to Sundari.

Did that mean that their entire relationship had been a sham, a pretense for her own benefit? Even with his emotions roiling within him, Obi-Wan could see that this was far from the truth. Satine had nothing to gain from their love; he didn't grant her power, or prestige. And because they had never taken the physical side of their relationship very far, he knew also that she wasn't simply using him for pleasure. No, what they had between them was real, was strong-but perhaps there was one thing stronger than their love.

Her love for her people.

Although a part of him still felt betrayed, that realization eased some of his pain. Qui-Gon had told him that part of loving someone was balancing the good of the beloved with the good of many, and right now, as Satine sped toward Sundari, she was showing that she could in fact choose the good of many over him. She could let him go-and take hold of something better.

And that made his love for her grow deeper still.

Osa set down her tea, frowning up at him. "You seem troubled, Jedi."

Obi-Wan inclined his head. "No, Lady Wren. Far from it."

The Mandalorian woman sighed. "Then perhaps it is time you are on your way, Jedi. I have ordered my people to leave you be; you have no need to fear them, unless you overstay your welcome."

"I'll try not to provoke your people, Lady Wren. But first, tell me-what is the quickest route to Sundari?"

Osa's frown deepened. "She'll arrive there before you."

"I don't want to stop her," Obi-Wan replied. No, he wanted much more than that.

He wanted to see the joy on her face when her dream for her people became reality.


	12. Chapter 12

ONE MONTH LATER, SUNDARI

She had done it.

Duchess Satine Kryze, the woman he had once thought incapable of leading her people, had saved Mandalore.

The war hadn't ended immediately, of course. It had been a month since Satine had returned to Mandalore to announce that most of the Clans had laid down their arms, and it was only now that Clan Vizla had agreed to sign a peace treaty between the Clans. But Satine's actions that day had created the political inertia that would lead Clan Vizla to recognize-albeit begrudgingly-that the war was a lost cause.

It had always been a lost cause.

Standing in the midst of what had once been Mandalore's capital, Obi-Wan saw just what the war had taken from Satine's people. He could tell that Sundari had been beautiful once; the remains of elegant latticework and stained glass scattered about the city bore testimony to that fact. However, after the fighting, most of the city was nothing more than an ashen pile of rubble and debris, a place even the animals of Mandalore had abandoned. The only building that appeared to still be somewhat serviceable was the capital building itself, which had survived the onslaught of war thanks only to its _beskar _frame.

Obi-Wan stood next to his master in the the ruins of Sundari, gazing up at the lonely figure the capital building cut into the cloudless horizon. Satine was in there now, finalizing the peace treaty with all of the Clans. Truth be told, he would prefer to be in there himself, standing at her side rather than at Qui-Gon's-but something in him told him that he shouldn't. This was Satine's fight now, and as much as he would like to stay and help her rebuild, he knew that he shouldn't.

Obi-Wan tore his gaze from the capital building and glanced at Qui-Gon. His master had told him, all those months ago on Draboon, that he would know what he should choose when the moment came. And now, as they waited for Satine to end the war that had brought them both here, Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon had been right. Seeing Satine's devotion to Mandalore, her ceaseless determination to end the war that had nearly destroyed her people, had shown him how selfish it would be to expect her to continue loving him. She couldn't continue to seek the good of her people with such fervor and still devote time to him...or whatever family they might have created together.

It was a beautiful dream, while it had lasted. But now, as he awaited the moment when he could bid farewell to his love, he understood that it had been just that: A dream. Perhaps it might have worked, they might have found a way-but it was more likely than not that their life together would have ended in pain.

Qui-Gon, noticing Obi-Wan's gaze, turned his head to regard Obi-Wan. "I can tell that you have something to share with me."

"You could sense that?"

Qui-Gon smiled gently. "Or perhaps I simply know you that well."

"It seems you do." Obi-Wan returned his gaze to the capital building. "But it seems that your senses were also right."

His master arched a brow. "Right about what?"

"About the trials. You said a year ago that you sensed that I may yet face far greater trials during our mission to Mandalore. And all things considered, it appears that I did."

Qui-Gon turned his own gaze upon the capital building. "And what have you chosen, padawan?"

Sighing, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The choice had been clear, yes, as clear as the cloudless horizon stretching overhead. But it had not been easy. It had taken him months to finally gather the courage and make his decision, and it would take many more months for the pain of that choice to subside. He might even live with the pain for the rest of his life-but if that pain meant doing good in the galaxy, and it meant Satine could be the leader her people deserved, than it was pain he could learn to bear.

After a moment, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. "I am a Jedi, like all those who have come before me."

Qui-Gon's gentle smile returned. "I cannot say that I expected this. Your path, what you might choose, was unclear to me. But I never doubted you would choose the right path."

Obi-Wan looked back at his master. "I know."

"Then know also that I stand behind you, Obi-Wan. The path of a Jedi, of letting go of what we love most, is not an easy path to walk. But you will not have to walk it alone."

As Obi-Wan would understand in his later years, he would never be alone, though it might often feel that way. He had walked away from the love of a woman, and in the future, he would have to walk away from the truest friend he had ever had. He would lose everything, everyone, until he felt like he had nothing more to lose. But through it all, there would always be someone standing behind him, giving him the strength to rise.

And right now, watching as Satine and her fellow Mandalorians descended the steps of the capital building, Obi-Wan knew that he would have the strength to rise above this, too. He would be able to walk away, to let her go so they could both take hold of something better. He may look back, yes, gaze with yearning into the endless _what-ifs _their love had left behind. One day, it would be unavoidable; fate would throw them together yet again, and he would be forced to wrestle once more with the past. But even then, even when he did look back, he would always have the strength to move forward, to forge the path he was always meant to walk.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said.

In response, Qui-Gon put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon's gentle gaze. "Master, I know I said I would never ask for anything more, but I do have one more thing to ask of you."

Qui-Gon nodded.

"I know that we won't depart for another few days. But I also know that in that time, it will be difficult to find time alone." Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Satine, who was making her way to where they stood in the shadow of the capital building. "I'd like to be with her before then, at least for a little while."

Qui-Gon joined him in a watching Satine for a moment, then he nodded. "I have to go make some final arrangements for our departure." It might have been Obi-Wan's imagination, but he could swear that Qui-Gon actually _winked_ at him. "It should take some time."

With that, Qui-Gon strode off, his shape quickly hidden by the partial walls and structures jutting up from Mandalore's surface. At the same time, Satine was drawing closer, looking every bit her royal title. Wearing an elegant yet simple blue and green dress, her hair woven through with flowers, she was as regal as she was beautiful. The only time he had seen her look more alluring had been by the river, when she had let her golden hair wave freely in the wind and she hadn't a care in the galaxy.

She smiled as she approached. "You seem a bit distracted."

"Distracted by your beauty," he said, flashing his own smile.

Amused, she shook her head. "It's infuriating how charming you can be without appearing to try."

"I thought you didn't find my charm endearing."

"Yes. Well. Pardon me if I didn't want you getting a big head."

"I can't see how I wouldn't. Any man would if he received a compliment from a woman as stunning as you."

Smiling playfully, she reached for his face, letting her hand run along his jawline. "Would your ego be quieted if I said you don't look very nice with stubble?"

"What about a beard?"

"That would be far worse."

He arched a brow. "How worse?"

"Let's say I would rather put up with your charm than see you with a beard."

He chuckled at that. "Well, then, the burden is on me to _not_ have a beard if our paths ever cross again."

A hint of sadness darkened her bright eyes "Do you think we will ever meet again?"

Obi-Wan stroked a finger along her cheek, as if ready to catch any tears that might fall there. Truthfully, he had no idea if they would see each other again. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to. It would be easier to walk away and never look back, easier to never see the long line of regrets trailing behind him.

He let his hand brush against the silkiness of her hair. "What do you believe?"

Her eyes met his. "I believe we will."

"Then we will see each other again." He slid his hand into hers, their fingers gently intertwining. "But for today, let's focus on the present."

They strode off hand-in-hand, together at least for a little while longer.


	13. Epilogue

SUNDARI, 19 BBY

"I think we're safe for now."

The words, coming from the woman next to him, brought Obi-Wan Kenobi a mixture of relief and melancholy. On one hand, he was glad to have a respite from all the fighting, all the chaos raging outside. On the other, part of him ached for what he knew would come next.

A chapter in his life was about to end.

And new one would begin in its place.

Drawing in a deep breath, hoping his composure held, Obi-Wan turned toward the woman. Her features were an odd conglomerate of grim determination and feminine softness. In many ways, he reflected sadly, Bo-Katan Kryze was just like her sister, embodying the balance between strength and grace, chaos and order.

A rueful smile touched Bo-Katan's lips. "You're not alone. I've been dreading this for a while, too."

Obi-Wan met her gaze, saying nothing. He was grateful to have found her, and not simply because she was a bittersweet reminder of his past. She, more than any other being, understood what he had lost. Her loss was different, yes; hers was the mourning for a sisterhood that was mended too late, while his was the grief for what might have been. But she understood the ache in his heart, the pain of losing something so wonderful and brave and beautiful because she, too, had lost it.

They had lost it together.

Bo-Katan put a hand on his shoulder then walked past him, leaving the small antechamber in which they stood and heading down a faintly lit hall. Drawing in another deep breath, Obi-Wan followed her until they both entered what he could only be described as a temple. As far as he knew, the room had no actual religious significance; this was simply one of the few buildings in Sundari that was large enough for this event. However, from the way the sunlight streamed in through the glass ceiling, filling the room with soft amber light, he could not shake the feeling that this place was filled with the presence of the divine.

Or perhaps it was just the memory of love. Or maybe, in a way, love and the divine were one in the same. Obi-Wan just wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.

As they entered the room, the room that sparked the feeling of the divine, a host of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, turned to look at them. Some, like Bo-Katan, were garbed in a blue-gray armor, their helmets tucked smartly under one arm. Others were dressed in simple blue and green robes, a stark contrast to the warriors in their midst. Indeed, it struck Obi-Wan that he was surrounded by beings who had once been enemies-the Death Watch and the New Mandalorians. Yet somehow, here, in this room, the battlelines had disappeared, and despite their differences in appearance they seemed to be one people. One heart.

This had been Satine's dream.

Two years ago, when he had been called back to Mandalore by the Jedi Council, he had been saddened to learn that Satine's people were once again fighting amongst themselves. After all, Satine had worked so hard-and sacrificed so much-to bring peace to Mandalore, and yet it was all being thrown away in a matter of months. He had hoped then that she might one day see her people lay down their arms, setting aside their petty differences and standing again as a people united. He still hoped that she could, even though she was gone. But although the fighting still continued, although Mandalore still warred with herself, he saw in these people an echo of the peace for which Satine had fought so hard to secure.

He felt humbled that he was bearing witness to this.

And even stranger still, the people here did not seem to mind the fact that three Force-users-he, Anakin, and Anakin's former apprentice, Ahsoka-were gathered here among them. He remembered a time when he had been regarded with disdain by the Mandalorians, when those such as Lady Osa Wren had eyed him with suspicion and loathing. He could not have imagined then that they would one day look upon him with respect, view him as an equal. Even Ursa Wren, who stood at the border of the small crowd with her husband and two small children, gave him a respectful nod, as if her old resentment toward him had fallen away with the years.

"They are the future of Mandalore," Bo-Katan said to him quietly, nodding toward Ursa and her family. "Our people will survive-one way or another."

Again, Obi-Wan had nothing to say to that. He didn't need to. The truth of her words, seen in the determination and courage of everyone gathered here, was undeniable.

Bo-Katan touched his shoulder again, her expression softening. "Are you ready?"

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for this," he admitted. "But I want to see this through."

Nodding, Bo-Katan's hand fell away from his shoulder as she turned toward the throng of beings gathered around her. In this moment, her resemblance to her sister was heartbreaking, almost unbearably so. The confidence with which she carried herself, the determination glinting in her emerald eyes, was so reflective of Satine that seeing her cut Obi-Wan to the core.

But he would endure this. He owed Satine, and her memory, that much.

"People of Mandalore," she began, her voice as clear and purposeful as Satine's. "We are gathered here today because we have lost. We have lost Mandalore to Maul, we have lost our Clanmates to battle-and worst of all, we have lost our leader." She lowered her head. "I am the first to confess that I did not always see her this way. Although Duchess Satine was my sister, we rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially when it came to politics. She wanted us to abandon our warrior ways, and I was obsessed with clinging to the past. But I see now that our differences were folly. Rather than move apart, we should have drawn together; we could have combined the old ways with the new. The problem was that I, like many of you, was too set in my ways to recognize the wisdom in this. I didn't understand what my sister could have done for Mandalore until it was too late."

The Mandalorians, both of the old ways and the new, were silent. So was he. He had often disagreed with Satine himself, especially when it came to her view of the Clone Wars, but he had always believed she would do something great for Mandalore. It was why he had let go of their love-and let go of her.

"But there's little good dwelling on the past," Bo-Katan continued, raising her head. "I made my mistakes, as I'm sure my sister did as well. Those actions, for better or worse, cannot be changed. But these mistakes do not change the fact that Duchess Satine loved Mandalore-or that she still loved me. And I loved her." She showed him a brief look. "I know many of you here loved her as well, in your own ways. Love has a way of enduring past our missteps. Our mistakes can kill everything and everyone around us, but they cannot kill love unless we let it. I, for one, choose love. And I choose to honor that love by forging a new path for our people. What do you choose?"

No one said a word, but Obi-Wan had no doubt what they had chosen.

Because it was what he had chosen for himself.

While Bo-Katan continued on, eulogizing her fallen sister, Obi-Wan held onto his love, cherishing the place it held in his heart. Although he had walked away from her, his love for Satine had never ceased. With the wisdom that only experience affords, Obi-Wan could look back on his past and see that letting her go had been the truest way he could love her, even though it had caused him pain. To place the needs of the beloved above one's own was, in his view, the purest definition of love. And to let her go, despite his own anguish, was that definition made visible.

He only hoped that others might learn from his story of love and loss.

Tearing his attention from Bo-Katan for a moment, Obi-Wan's gaze settled upon Anakin, who stood watching the eulogy at the far end of the crowd. He was too far away for Obi-Wan to read his expression, but he could sense through the Force the young man's inner turmoil. Was he picturing what it might be like to be in Obi-Wan's place, to be mourning the death of his only love? He knew that Anakin was no stranger to loss; in a way, Anakin had lost his mother twice, once when he had left her for the Jedi and once when her life was stolen by the Tuskens. However, he wasn't certain if Anakin would be capable of suffering through another loss of that magnitude, of accepting the anguish as Obi-Wan had. Anakin had never been good at letting things go, and part of Obi-Wan knew that he would never be. Anyone who lived with as much fear as Anakin did would have difficulty emptying their hands.

Obi-Wan quitely sighed. At times, Obi-Wan found it difficult to watch Anakin make mistakes, to continually choose what he ought not to. But as he kept reminding himself, Anakin was a man now-and just as Qui-Gon had told him all those years ago, Anakin was old enough to make his own decisions and take responsibility for the consequences. Even if those consequences could bring disaster.

But he wasn't here to ruminate on Anakin. Anakin, for better or worse, had chosen his own path, and that was that. He was here to focus on the path ahead, on the legacy that his one and only love would leave.

And what would that legacy be? For one, he knew it would be a legacy of strength, of determination-not only for her people, but for him as well. Loving her had been a kind of trial, a testing of his resolve. And now, after all he had endured because of his love-all of the pain, all of the anguish and suffering-he knew his resolve was stronger than ever. He was on the right path, and he would keep moving forward. He always would.

He would do it for her.


End file.
